


Exciting Opportunities

by JJMarmite



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy, Warhammer 40.000
Genre: Gen, Rogue Trader - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2020-01-14 16:45:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 93,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18480277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JJMarmite/pseuds/JJMarmite
Summary: In an unexpected and highly unlikely turn of events, a catastrophic warp breach from a crippled ship manages to fling a Rogue Trader - or rather, the youngest son of a Rogue Trader - through time and space to a universe quite unlike what anyone on-board is used to.They make the best of the situation.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Like most right-minded people, I've often day-dreamed about mashing together 40K and ME like a toddler mashing two dolls together, but it wasn't really until I read The Mission Stays The Same that I really had a fire lit in me to do something about it.
> 
> Not that I had - or have - any real idea, obviously. This is just one of the earliest ones I had. Most involve Rogue Traders, because Rogue Traders are cool.
> 
> Anyway. Yes. This is an 'old version' of the idea that I just want to beat down and try to finish off for kicks. Because I am bored. So yes.

The beam of the lance caught the raider more or less right in the middle and very nearly cut the ship in half. Superheated metal gobbets the size of hab-blocks sprayed into the void, glowing violently, and secondary explosions rippled across and under the surface of the vessel. 

One especially violent detonation did actually succeed in finally bisecting it, severing what few scraps connected the prow and stern and the two halves slowly started drifting apart from one another, held together only with a few slender, slowly unlooping trails of ducting and pipes.

Like intestines, really.

The sight of the stricken, dead ship filled the main pictscreen on the bridge of the Assertive. It filled a good few of the other screens, too, some in greater details, but none quite as spectacularly as the main one.

“That went well,” said Jarrion, beaming.

The last few months had been exceedingly dull, at least as far as he was concerned.

While his father and his brothers were off doing important, exciting work on the fringes and out in the black he was stuck here safe in the practically civilized bosom of his House’s freshly carved territory. Rugged and positively rural by the standards of the Imperium proper, it was a damn sight more civilised than where he would have preferred to be. 

He was on the map, and while the ink was still wet - as it were - he was still in known territory, rather than out there charting it. This rankled.

Important work, to be sure. Flying the flag of House Croesus, ensuring that the colonists remembered upon whom their safety chiefly relied. They might have had the light of the Imperium let back into their lives courtesy of House Croesus or else been given a chance at a new life on a virgin planet, but the authorities were stretched as it was. 

It wasn’t the Navy looking out for them, that was for sure, and these people would do well to bear that in mind.

The point was Jarrion could see why it had to be done, he just wasn’t especially happy being the one doing it. He felt like a prop, not so much like a Rogue Trader. But that was being the younger son for you.

He had been given command of the Assertive - a fine and redoubtable Dauntless - for the task several reasons. For one, it would easily handle the worst of what he might expect to find, what with raiders and pirates still lurking here and there as they were wont to do in the wake of such upheaval. 

For another, it was more impressive than a frigate, and being impressive was important. Important to be seen and to be seen as a House of means. And for a third, it was outfitted for extend operation which meant he could wander around for as long as was needed.

A bonus on top of that being that the same facilities that allowed it to remain operation for so long - the on-board manufactorum, for example - were the very same that allowed the Assertive to provide the occasional spot of assistance for flagging colonies. The supply of freshly-constructed spare parts for broken machinery, a new piece of farming equipment here and there, a few crates of lasguns to help them keep themselves safe on those long, cold, frontier nights, and so on. 

That sort of thing always went over very well with provincials. Very helpful in reminding them to whom their immediate loyalty lay, in a way that didn’t rely on blowing something up from orbit. Always better, Jarrion felt, to open up with the niceties and fall back on the guns if your largesse was unfairly rejected.

Probably one of the reasons why his brother didn’t like him. One of the reasons.

Jarrion watched as the raider vessel’s halves spun further away from one another. Unlike some of the smaller ships that had already been taken care of, this one looked to be of actual Imperial make, albeit very old. 

The make and model was a mystery to Jarrion, but certainly it appeared to be a cut above what he’d encountered so far. Likely the lead-ship of the bunch. All the others had been rather ramshackle, locally-built ships obviously operating out of a base of some sort - likely operating from this very ship currently spinning into two pieces and venting into space.

It was difficult to pick out the exact details given the distance, but the twinkling detritus and debris ejecting from those damaged compartments open to the void caught the light every so often. Some of that debris, Jarrion reflected, would be crew.

He wondered if they’d had enough time to regret their life choices.

“Excellently handled, my Lord,” said Torian, a man by Jarrion’s elbow who looked like a stiff breeze might snap him in half. 

Nominally Jarrion’s seneschal, actually just there to keep an eye on him and report back to father. Not that Jarrion really minded, much. He was very useful to have around because he was better at remembering the fiddlier, more tedious details that often proved surprisingly important. 

That, and having been around so long meant he was also packed with anecdotes. Some of them were sometimes even useful.

“Why thank you, Torian, very kind of you to say,” Jarrion said without taking his eyes off the screen. His first actual ship kill. The ramshackle little ships had hardly counted, being suitable only for bullying colonists stuck on a planet surface with no way to fight back. 

They’d run on his approach, not even trying to fight. They had not got that far. But they did not count, particularly. This one, though, was closer to a proper ship, and so did. His first actual ship kill.

He was sure he was meant to feel something about the moment. Something momentous and important. But mostly Jarrion was just glad it hadn’t gone wrong. Not that he let this relief show.

“I think it might be worthwhile investigating that wreck, don’t you?” He said, finally turning to look at Torian when speaking. Torian, in turn, blinked in surprise at the suggestion.

“My Lord?” He asked.

Jarrion waved a hand back towards the pictscreen.

“On the off-chance that our raider here is part of a greater group rather than a lone wolf. Maybe he has friends. We may find information as regards their base of operations, if any. Seems wise to me.”

Jarrion had spent considerable time reading up on this sort of thing prior to arriving, not to mention asking some of the House staff who had naval experience. He’d felt it wise to be as informed as possible, and this seemed to him a fairly sensible thing to do.

“Pak,” Jarrion said, turning to Magos Pak who was stood nearby, plugged in and staring blankly into space. That dead, grey face swung in Jarrion’s direction and Jarrion did his best to look as if he had got over how disarming he found this.

Prior to his command, his experience of and contact with the Adeptus Mechanicus had been rather limited.

“Pak, data gathering would likely be your wheelhouse, wouldn’t it? Might be worth our time sending over a techpriest or two, wouldn’t you say? Could you please see towards organising them for me, in the spirit of cooperation and mutual advancement?”

The Magos nodded, and their mechadendrites unplugged and replugged themselves into different sockets. Presumably this did something, though what wasn’t clear.

Jarrion wasn’t entirely sure where his father had picked up Pak, nor why Pak had insisted on being placed aboard the Assertive. But they had, and they now were. The constant silence had taken some getting used to but Pak was at least reliable.

He then turned to the Master at Arms, standing at the ready not too far away.

“Organise some armsmen to make up the boarding parties, if you’d be so kind, Master at Arms? There’ll probably be at least one compartment that survived and they might be happy to receive visitors, you know how these things go.”

“Lord Captain,” said the Master at Arms, saluting and departing at speed.

And with that things became rather subdued, the previously chaotic activity on the bridge settling back down to its usual level of quiet hubbub, the sort that indicated things were proceeding comfortably without issue.

Jarrion remained standing, hands behind his back, eyes on the pictscreen, watching the wreck twist ever further and further apart from itself, almost like it was a ribbon unwinding.

Odd ship, now that Jarrion could look at it without gunfire clouding the view. Human, clearly, so presumably Imperial, but then again perhaps not. Unlikely anything Jarrion had ever seen before, certainly. Very sleek looking. Perhaps some odd, old local design. Something the raiders had dug up somewhere. 

Could have been anything, really.

Now that he thought about it, seemed a bit of a shame to have wrecked it so utterly. The thing might have had some value. Too late now. Hopefully they’d find something on board to ensure it wasn’t a complete waste. Possibly even archeotech, if they were very lucky!

Father would like that, Jarrion was sure. Certainly, it would get his attention. Though that might not necessarily be a good thing, Jarrion realised. Still. Such was life.

A little less than an hour later a pair of lighters departed, and Jarrion watched them make their way through the black towards the dying, possibly dead, ship. They’d probably take a little while to get there and a little while after that to get properly established, but he was very keen to hear what they found.

Then, a flurry of activity from the crew manning a bank of consoles to Jarrion’s right.

“Warp drive breach!” 

Alarms blared and automatically the lightning on the bridge slammed over to emergency, bathing everything and everyone in red. Jarrion found this unhelpful, but could do little about it.

And right now he had other things to worry about.

“What? That’s a local ship! We didn’t read a drive, did we?” He shouted, storming over to the consoles and hunkering down behind the frantically-working crew.

Nothing had indicated it was anything other than a system-bound ship. Readings had not shown anything to make them suspect otherwise. Not that this changed anything at that moment. The wreckage on the pictscreen was beginning to distort, as though viewed through the bottom of a glass. The distant and barely-visible shuttles of the away teams could just about be seen to be frantically turning back.

“It’s just spiked! Out of nowhere!” Yelled the crewmember over whom he’d hunkered, hands working furiously across the controls, console lit up with warning runes.

Jarrion turned, arm flung out, finger pointing, voice rising above the din.

“All power to engines, get us out of here at-”


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm getting to the ME bit, honest.

“-once. Wait, what?”

Something had happened.

It had felt rather like a blink, only instead of the usual way around of it happening - which was to say, Jarrion blinking - it had been like the whole universe had blinked at him. The experience had been thoroughly disorientating, and not just for Jarrion from the looks of things, either. Someone on the bridge vomited.

Just as automatically as the alarms and klaxons and emergency lighting had come on, they all automatically turned off again, and normality of a kind resumed.

“Wha- damage! Damage report! What happened?” Jarrion asked, taking a second to recover himself and assert some authority. This seemed to snap everyone else back to the moment as well.

“No damage, Lord Captain,” came the response from another crew member on another console.

“No damage?” Jarrion repeated, appalled and astonished. “No damage? How can that be? Check again! All systems! Everything! Anything looks so much as a hair off of perfect you tell me!”

“There’s nothing, Lord Captain. The Assertive is sound and unharmed,” the same crew member said, a tinge of desperation entering their voice at having to be the bearer of unusually good bad news.

Jarrion - bereft - turned to Pak, who shrugged.

“What in the Emperor’s name…” Jarrion hissed to himself. His eyes then wandered to the pictscreen, which was still showing nominally the same view as before. Or at least it should have been. Jarrion gestured to it angrily.

“And where’s the wreck gone? And where are we?”

The stars outside now were not the stars that had been outside some seconds previously, and there was also now a planet where there had not been one before. A gas giant, in fact, that they appeared to be in stable orbit around. Because why not?

No answers were forthcoming, which was hardly a surprise.

Jarrion took a steadying breath.

“Alright. Okay. Time for a brief emergency meeting, senior bridge personnel to attend. And you, Pak. Someone send for Altrx and tell him he is required. Torian, Thale, let’s go,” he said, turning and leaving, Torian having to shuffle extra quickly to keep up, Thale was already two steps behind him.

Thale being Jarrion’s bodyguard, who had been standing silently beside the Lord Captain’s command throne the whole while this had been happening, entirely unflappable. 

Thale, a man who had quite literally fought against every major race the Imperium was currently at war with, was the only non-essential person in the room. From Tau to Tyranids and everything in between, Thale had fought and killed them. 

He’d even fought against daemons on more than one occasion, something which was well-known to be more than the bluster of a professional warrior. 

How the man had evaded the Inquisition and was still around to tell these tales was anyone’s guess. Slipped through the cracks, Jarrion supposed, a fact for which he was personally profoundly grateful. Thale might have scared him, but Jarrion knew he scared other people more, and for very good reason - and not just people, either. He scared most things.

It took Jarrion a brisk walk and a short ride on a conveyor to reach the room in which he was to hold his emergency meeting. Pak was not far behind, and the others arrived not long after that.

The meeting room - and it really was a room, torn from a venerable location and placed at great expense onto the ship - was exceedingly luxurious, as could well be expected. Every piece of furniture practically gleamed, everything was old, everything was expensive. The chairs were not comfortable, and were arranged around a long table carved from the wood of a planet that no longer existed.

Jarrion sat at the head of this table, Thale standing behind him, Torian to his immediate right. Pak was also presently, along with the ship’s actual head Tech Priest, Magos Blix. The two were conversing, Binaric apparently not counting under Pak’s vow of silence. The Navigator Altrx was sat a little further along from Torian, staring into space, and beyond them were several other, lesser members of the ship’s staff - the Master at Arms, for one, a handful of petty and warrant officers, and so on. 

People there to answer questions if Jarrion had them, basically.

Checking his chronometer Jarrion felt he’d allowed those present enough time to settle in and then tucked the thing away again, clearing his throat and bringing the low-level hubbub that had been going on to an immediate halt.

Barring the two Magi, who ignored him. Not unexpected.

“Alright. Circumstances are unusual. According to what I’ve heard the Assertive itself is running entirely normal, is that the case?” Jarrion asked and Blix paused in their conversation with Pak long enough to nod. That was about as much as Jarrion knew he could hope for right now, but it spoke volumes and satisfied him so he didn’t mind.

“Good. And what is the condition of the crew?”

This he directed towards the gaggle of lesser officers who exchanged a quick, hushed discussion over who should answer. They settled on a senior officer who Jarrion knew by sight if not by name - something he really should have got around to correcting by now, he told himself.

Early days, was his excuse. Not that that would have flown with father, obviously.

“The crew are entirely unaware of anything untoward or unusual having happened, Lord Captain,” said the officer.

“Good, keep it that way,” Jarrion said, and the officers all nodded understanding.

That was something, at least. 

“Right. With immediate concerns out of the way let’s move onto the merely pressing concerns,” Jarrion said with a sigh. “Firstly, finding out where we are is priority. Plainly we’re in real space but equally plainly we are not where we were, so how far were we flung off-course and how long is it going to take to get us back to where we’re meant to be. Navigator Altrx?”

“It’s gone,” the Navigator said, more to themselves than to anyone else. As aloof as the Navigator was - more-or-less about what you might expect from someone of their rank and station - Jarrion had never seen Altrx look quite so detached.

“What’s gone?” Jarrion asked.

“The Astronomicon. It’s not there.”

Silence. The uncomfortable kind.

The Astronomicon disappearing wasn’t exactly unheard of, of course. There were remote and distant parts of the Emperor’s domains where the light sometimes only reached sporadically or so weakly that it was difficult to locate. 

There were also dark and occluded spots here and there where - for one reason or another - it also failed to reached. A risk Rogue Traders were aware of, though one that Jarrion had not personally ever encountered. 

First time for everything. He cleared his throat.

“Well, all things considered it’s not the worst thing that could have happened given what we went through - and survived, I remind you all! I assume you have charts available to help us plot a route back to a less benighted and forgotten spot of space?” Jarrion asked.

“That’s not all,” the Navigator said, rubbing their face.

“Oh?”

“The Warp is also calm.”

Jarrion smiled.

“Is that so? Our luck may be turning then!”

“Perhaps I wasn’t as clear as I should have been. The Warp is calm. Almost completely calm. As close to still as I think it might be possible for it to get. I have never - never - seen it like this. I didn’t even know it could be like this.”

More silence. Jarrion swallowed, shifted, and put his smile back on.

“Altrx, my dear friend,” he said. “Bear in mind that I am not a Navigator and so perhaps am not as experienced with the technical side of things as you are. Could you maybe run through that again rather more simply? For the benefit of us laypeople.”

“The Warp is never calm. There are places where you might find it to be calmer, but never calm. Never. It just doesn’t happen.”

The Navigator sounded both outraged and oddly despondent about this, as though life itself were playing some kind of cruel joke on them. They appeared inches from actually sulking. It was disarming. Jarrion cleared his throat.

“Does this make your job difficult?” He asked.

The Navigator scowled.

“A touch difficult. If I had an idea of our location I might be able to use the better known routes to maneuver us. In the absence of the Astronomicon it seems our best option. Imprecise and clumsy, but better by far than simply plunging in a random direction and hoping for the best,” they said.

“Have Astronavigation determine our location at once,” Jarrion said and off a House servant went at a dash. Various such servants lined the perimeter of the room for this very reason, hands behind their backs, silent and unmoving.

It was inefficient to send runners in such a way, but the room was far too valuable to modify for external communication - it had been in the family for generations! Installed in the Assertive as a sign of magnanimous favour from father himself! Almost as old as the Imperium, if that could be believed, and still in fine condition!

Jarrion had had the illustrious history of the room and all its fixtures and fittings explained to him more than once in his lifetime. He’d actually found it quite interesting, but was by-the-by.

While they waited, Jarrion again turned to Altrx.

“Forgive my ignorance on the subject, but I would have thought a calm Warp would have made for smoother sailing,” he asked. The logic of this seemed fairly clear, but Jarrion would have been the first to admit he wasn’t an expert on the details.

It was fairly obvious to all present that the Navigator was biting back on harsher words than they eventually came out with.

“With the Warp as it is travel would be as simple as crossing a room but - unfortunately - with no points of reference that room is pitch-black. And hundreds of miles across. And I don’t know where the door is,” Altrx said, diplomatically. 

“Ah. I see,” said Jarrion.

Awkward silence. No-one seemed to know what to do next. Then Jarrion snapped his fingers, making Torian jump. He had been starting to nod off.

“Communications! Of course. Why didn’t I think of that sooner? We’ll message - not to signal distress, just to test the waters, see what’s nearby. Can the Choirmaster be told to come to this meeting at once, if he’d be so kind. As a matter of urgency.”

Phrased as a request. Not actually a request. Another crew member nodded and went running off.

Continued awkward silence.

“Anything like this ever happen to you before, Torian?” Jarrion asked after a few excruciating minutes.

“No, my Lord.”

A surprise, though not a huge one. Jarrion had rather hoped that something similar might have happened, if only to plumb the old man for ideas. No such luck.

“Ah. Shame.”

Some minutes later the crew member who’d been sent to message Astronavigation returned. They hadn’t run all the way there, obviously, rather they’d only run to the communications suite which was a little way down from the luxurious meeting room. Still, they were back sooner than Jarrion had expected.

“Lord Captain,” said the crew member, bowing briefly.

“That was quick,” said Jarrion, frowning.

“Yes, Lord Captain. Sorry, Lord Captain. I was told to relay to you that Astronavigation has a rough idea of where we are.”

This was not quite what Jarrion had expected to hear. His frown intensified. 

“Rough? How can it be rough? They do see the stars outside, do they not? We left port with sufficient charts, as I recall,” Jarrion said. He had made sure of that, at no little expense either. He liked to be prepared.

“They do, Lord Captain, it is just that…”

Jarrion had the distinct impression he was about to be told something else that was to his disadvantage and sighed preemptively, resting his face in one hand. The crew member shifted uncomfortably and Jarrion waved for them to continue.

“Just that what?” He asked.

“They report that while many star formations appear similar to those in our records, many others do not. This has confused their efforts somewhat, Lord Captain.”

“I imagine it would,” Jarrion said flatly, face still in his hand, eyes closed. Today was going to be like this, he felt. A long string of things not going to plan or just being wrong.

There came the sound of the door opening again and Jarrion glanced up through his fingers.

There stood an Astropath, but not the Choirmaster.

“You’re not the Choirmaster,” said Jarrion, pointing. The Astropath gave a smile and a slight forward incline of her head. Not so much a nod or a bow or anything, really. Certainly not the sort of reaction Jarrion would have expected.

“The Choirmaster is indisposed,” was all she said before walking right on in. Everyone was too flabbergasted by this breach of protocol to do anything about it, right up until she arrived at an empty chair and plopped herself down in it.

This was taking the piss.

“Is there a particular reason you’ve sat down? At this table? With us? Would you benefit from, perhaps, having the rank system on board this ship explained to you?” Jarrion asked, trying to sound casual, glancing to Thale who gave the slightest of nods to signal he was ready to expel her or at least unseat her.

If the Astropath was at all nervous about any of this she gave no sign. If anything she just seemed happier, small smile growing larger as she leant forward across the table, arms tucking into her robes.

“I have a small confession to make. I don’t think you’ll be pleased to see me.”

Jarrion’s patience, though considerable compared to most of his social standing, was not without limits.

“Why’s that? I was under the impression I was already seeing you, or is there something else today that I’m missing? Come on, what else can go wrong?”

She held out a hand in front of her, facing up, resting on the table. 

Sitting there in her palm, perfectly innocuous, was an Inquisitorial rosette.


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tonally this isn't especially 40K but this is how it's coming out so there you go.

Jarrion sighed and pinched his nose.

“Does anyone else have anything else they’d like to tell me? Torian, have you been moonlighting as a Primarch? No? Thale? Thor reincarnated? No? Shame. Anyone else? Anything? Eldar in disguise? Hiding Orks in the bilge? No?”

No-one else in the room seemed to think this was the time for jokes. Jarrion sighed again. No-one ever seemed to think it was the time for jokes. He turned to the Inquisitor who had by now tucked the rosette away and was happily relaxing in her chair the way someone does when they know they can do just about anything they want.

The chair, Jarrion noticed, that had been carved out of the bones of a breed of xenos the name of which had utterly escaped him. They were extinct now, he believed. But that was just him getting sidetracked. Mostly it was just the sight of her sitting in it so casually that made him a little cross. Jarrion did his best to ignore this.

“I’ve never seen an Astropath who was an Inquisitor before,” he said instead. Loghain tapped a finger to her nose, a thoroughly disarming gesture for an Inquisitor.

“I’m not an Astropath, it’s a disguise.”

Jarrion looked deep into her charred, empty eye sockets. Disconcertingly, they seemed to be looking right back at him. 

Most Astropaths, he belatedly realised, kept that sort of thing covered up. Maybe she had foregone this on purpose just to unsettle everyone. If she had, it was working. Jarrion had to look away. 

“Very convincing,” he muttered. She smiled.

“If there’s one thing the Inquisition strives for it is to be convincing.”

Somehow, an Inquisitor with a sense of humour seemed more worrying than one without. Jarrion didn’t really want the only person on the ship other than himself telling jokes to be someone who could also make his life extremely difficult. But it seemed he wasn’t to be so lucky.

“I have heard that about the Inquisition, yes. And your name would be…?” He asked, trying to keep at least a fingertip-hold on the momentum of the conversation.

“Loghain.”

“Inquisitor Loghain, I take it you won’t tell us why you’re here?”

“Of course not,” she scoffed.

“No, I suppose that would be too much to hope for,” Jarrion said, sighing and slumping a little in his seat.

“May I ask a question, my Lord?” Torian asked.

“By all means. My table is open to all. Apparently,” Jarrion said, waving a hand.

“If you don’t mind me asking, Lord Inquisitor,” Torian said, shifting in his seat, his whole body creaking, augmetics buzzing. “How was it you were able to remain so well hidden in the choir? A room full of telepaths hardly seems the safest place for a spy. Forgive my impertinence.”

Torian had not dealt with Inquisitors before. His experience lay almost exclusively with and within House Croesus and so largely concerned the vagaries of Rogue Traders and their associates. He wasn’t entirely sure what the etiquette was when talking to the Inquisition. He felt it best to play it safe and be polite. It tended to work for him in anything he came up against.

Loghain turned Torian’s way, making the old man flinch as he got a better view of the damage that had been done to her eyes. Jarrion reckoned she had to be doing that on purpose.

“Not a spy. And I am a very closely guarded person. Though, if my concentration did slip and the Choirmaster did happen to catch perhaps a whisper of my true purpose and intentions and my true authority and then decided to keep it to himself I can hardly be blamed for that.”

This she said with the slightest hint of a grin.

“Does that answer your question?” She asked. Torian just nodded, shrinking back into his seat and rather regretting having said anything in the first place. 

Curiosity wasn’t exactly a virtue, as he knew, it was only the bizarre circumstances that had pushed him into trying. Clearly the excitement had got the better of him. He wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

Jarrion spoke, forestalling any further awkwardness:

“Well now that that’s out of the way can we continue? I think-”

“Let’s not be too fast yes? I don’t think we’re giving the situation the weight it demands. ” Loghain said. Jarrion, cut-off, gave her a very level look.

At this point he had had rather enough. Today had been going very well and now nothing was making sense and an Inquisitor had come barging in and was acting with every sign that she was going to start to throw her weight around. 

One of the best things about being stuck on the Assertive had been the distance it had put between Jarrion and his family, keeping comfortably out from under all of their thumbs and away from their interference. To swap familial meddling for Inquisitorial meddling was not something Jarrion felt that enthusiastic about.

So it was time for a little speech. A Rogue Trader’s prerogative. He laid his hands on the table and lent forward, ever-so-slightly.

“Inquisitor,” he said, voice commanding the room immediately. It was That Voice. He’d practised it. “While I appreciate the importance of you and your cohorts and the good work you all do for the sake of humanity and I am fully aware of the vaunted position you occupy in the Imperial hierarchy, I would like to remind you that I am a Rogue Trader, an individual empowered by the hand of the Emperor himself - or at least those charged to speak for him - to go places and do things in his name.”

He paused to see if Loghain would interrupt him, perhaps to bring up the fact that technically he was the son of a Rogue Trader, and so that therefore his particular authority might have been disputed by some. 

She did not, so he continued. 

“That brings with it a certain level of, shall we say, authority? An authority that covers all the domains of House Croesus and which is carried with me on this ship to whichever area of space I feel could benefit from Imperial light and civilization or else could benefit the greater Imperium by virtue of something contained within it. An authority that you might well say stems from the same source as yours, and so should be treated with the same level of due respect. You might say.”

Another pause. No interruptions. 

“And just because I make a joke or two and I don’t raze planets that look at me funny - unlike, say, my brother - doesn’t mean I should be taken any less seriously than my aforementioned brother, my father or anyone else in my House. With that in mind, I would appreciate it if you did not interrupt me on my ship again. If you’d be so kind.”

Loghain’s face did not so much as flicker and for a moment she was completely silent. Then she tipped her head in that weird way again. Jarrion assumed it was meant to be some kind of nod, but just less emphatic. Like a sarcastic yes.

“As you say,” she said.

“Thank you. However, I suppose you might have a point. What, in your experienced, Inquisitorial opinion, do you make of the current situation we find ourselves in?”

“I know you’re trying to unsettle me by thrusting me even further into the limelight, Lord Captain,” said Loghain, and Jarrion did take note of her carefully chosen form of address. “But as it happens and given the evidence I do actually have a theory.”

“That was quick. Do tell.”

“I posit that we are in a wholly different universe!” Loghain said with obvious glee.

Given what little they knew about her already - and what they knew about Inquisitors generally - it was hard for anyone around the table to grasp whether or not she was serious, joking or just trying to trick them somehow.

Jarrion shifted in his chair and glanced around at the others, reading the room.

“Do you now?” He asked, delicately. Loghain cocked her head.

“My finely-honed Inquisitorial senses tell me that you may be expressing sarcasm, but consider: the Astronomicon is nowhere to be found. The Warp is utterly still, without strife. The stars are not where they should be and some, indeed, are not there at all. This goes a little beyond the unusual, don’t you think?”

Jarrion glowered but couldn’t immediately think of anything to say. How she knew any of this wasn’t anything he was even going to bother broaching. Presumably she had methods, and if she wanted to be obliquely complimented on how good her spying was Jarrion wasn’t going to be the one to do it.

“I’ll admit these things are unexpected, but another universe? How can I honestly be expected to believe that?” He asked.

“Those travelling through the Warp have, on occasion, found themselves arriving before they have even departed,” Loghain pointed out. Jarrion flapped this aside with a wave of his hand.

“Yes, but thats time, that’s different. People have also found themselves lightyears off-course, as I rather suspect we are. Time and space I can understand, just about. You’re talking about something else entirely. It just doesn’t make sense.”

“It may not make sense to you, Lord Captain and begging your pardon, but such things have been theorised. Of course, if they were ever realised or achieved there’s been no record I’ve seen. But now, here we are!”

This settled nothing.

“I still feel that you are perhaps jumping to conclusions,” said Jarrion.

“That remains to be seen.”

“Quite.”

Both of them seemed to realise that pursuing this matter further from within a closed room in the middle of a spaceship was unlikely to get either of them anywhere.

Fortunately, someone chose this moment to knock at the door. A bell had been installed, but apparently not everyone knew about it. Jarrion waved to a servant to permit whoever it was entry, and it turned out to be a junior member of the bridge crew.

“What is it?” Jarrion asked. It had to be something, they wouldn’t have been interrupted otherwise.

“We have identified a contact in the vicinity, Lord Captain. A ship.”

Jarrion rolled his eyes.

“If it’s not one thing it’s another. Hostile?” He asked.

“Not immediately, Lord Captain.”

A genuine surprise. The way things were going Jarrion would not have been unduly alarmed to hear that Horus himself was outside and wanted a word.

“Well that’s something. Alright, back to the bridge we go - let’s say hello.”


	4. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look more words.

The lack of dignity in all this toing-and-froing would probably have been too much for any member of House Croesus barring Jarrion to bear, so it was lucky it was him the one doing it and not anyone else. His brother probably would have shot someone by this point, just to demonstrate that his patience was wearing thin. 

Returning to the bridge Jarrion settled into his command throne while the others who had accompanied him resumed their positions. All about, the bridge crew maintained their duties. 

Jarrion could see the recently-spotted ship on the same pictscreen that the wreck had been on not too long ago. Details of the vessel were hard to make out as the thing was quite small - unsurprising, space and all that - but it was, again, quite obviously unlike any vessel Jarrion had ever seen before.

It rather reminded him of some of the pictures of Eldar vessels he’d seen. Obviously not one, but still. Vaguely reminiscent, if only distantly. All curves and fins. Possibly just his brain groping desperately for even the merest hint of familiarity.

Shaking his head, Jarrion asked:

“Did it just arrive?”

“No Lord Captain. It appears to have been in orbit there for the whole time we have been here, it was just that we were not looking for it and it’s rather inconspicuous vessel. It appears to be doing, uh…”

The crew member had no idea what the ship appeared to be doing, and neither did Jarrion.

“Doing something, Lord Captain,” the crew member finished, rather lamely, voice trailing off. Jarrion could hardly blame them.

“So they are. Hmm,” he said, stroking his chin.

He was acutely aware of everyone on the bridge looking to him to tell them what to do next. Jarrion didn’t let this get to him.

“That is a tiny ship. How long is that ship?” He asked.

“Approximately one hundred and seventy meters, Lord Captain.”

Jarrion did some quick mental arithmetic. That would make the Assertive somewhere in the region of twenty-six times bigger. Roughly speaking. His eyebrows raised. No wonder it hadn’t leapt out to anyone on the bridge. He’d been worried about their attention to detail. 

“Tiny! Maybe it’s a heavy fighter. Corvette? No, too small...” he said. He looked to Pak to see if they had any input, being the most senior Techpriest on hand. Pak shrugged, again. Jarrion wasn’t sure what he had expected, if he was being honest.

Who’d taught a techpriest how to shrug, anyway?

“Would our weapons even be able to target something that small? Hypothetically?”

Always paid to be prepared.

“Our point defence turrets could acquire a lock, were you to require one, Lord captain,” said the Master of Gunnery from their station.

That was something, at least.

“Good, good. Don’t, just to say. Just good to know,” said Jarrion.

“They are hailing us, Lord Captain,” spoke up another of the bridge crew.

The strangers had beat him to the punch. No bad thing. At least it definitely showed them to be friendly, or alternatively showed them as open to not being blown to pieces by a Dauntless, which was the first step to friendliness if you thought about it.

“Put it on the main pict screen,” Jarrion said, gesturing to the largest of the screens present in the bridge, the one on which the image of the odd spaceship was presently being displayed.

It seemed the most dramatic and theatrical place to put it, given this might well be first-contact with some exciting new species. He put one hand on his hip and held the other out before him, towards the screen. He hoped he looked appropriately impressive and lordly.

“Apologies Lord Captain but it appears to be be audio-only.”

Jarrion held his pose a moment longer then let his arms drop to his sides.

“No visual?” He asked. The crewmember worried over their console a moment or two but without any obvious success.

“There appears to be an issue of compatibility with their vessel and ours, Lord Captain. Sorry, Lord Captain.”

Jarrion sighed, slumping back into his seat.

“Worse things have happened. Let’s hear it.”

What filled the bridge was obviously the sound of a human speaking, but it was not anything anyone present could immediately recognise. They all got close, but not quite close enough.

“What language is that?” Jarrion wondered aloud, stroking his chin.

Jarrion had something of a flair for languages. He felt that as a Rogue Trader having a flair for languages would come in handy, so he’d acquired one. The augmetics that replaced one of his ears helped him in this because he’d paid for them to be the kind that helped, but practise did most of the work. 

Screwing up his face he sorted through the words he’d just heard, picking out what he could recognise, poking and prodding in his mind. Snapping his fingers and wagging them at the static on the viewscreen he said:

“It sounds like an incredibly debased version of Low Gothic. Play that again for me.”

This happened. Jarrion closed his eyes and mouthed the words to himself. Several of the colonies he’d been visiting of late had had their own local dialects, but none as bizarre sounding as this. It was barely comprehensible. Still, there were hints and clues in it that Jarrion was able to latch onto. Structure formed in his head. It was becoming clear.

“My Lord?” Torian prodded, jolting Jarrion out of his reverie.

“Ah, terribly sorry. I imagine they await a response? Hmm...state your identity...Systems Alliance...Commander Shepard...Normandy SR-2? SR-2?” He said to himself, brow furrowing. “I wonder what the SR-2 signifies…”

Jarrion suddenly clapped his hands. Torian gasped and clutched at his chest.

“Well, let’s say hello to our inarticulate cousins. Are we broadcasting?” Jarrion asked, leaning forward in his command throne.

“The channel has been open this whole time,” Loghain said. She’d decided the best place for her to stand was right next to Jarrion, on the opposite to where Torian stood. He eyed her sideways.

“Great. Many thanks for your input, Inquisitor, very helpful,” he said with an acidity that she brushed off completely. Jarrion then cleared his throat, arranged the words in his head, and gave it his best shot in their wierdo, mangled language: “Hello Normandy SR-2, this is Lord Captain Jarrion Croesus of the Assertive. I trust the day finds you well?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glad that language barrier wasn't that big of an issue. Very convenient.


	5. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm starting to run out of the parts I mostly wrote months ago, now entering the territory of random, unconnected paragraphs I need to piece together.
> 
> And a plot might help. Rate of updating will likely now slow.

I had been taking a break from the serious business of assembling a dedicated team of professionals for a ludicrously dangerous mission given to me by a smug bastard so that I could unwind by firing probes at planets. It helped me relax.

 

That and, you know, minerals. Useful for things, apparently. The boys in the lab - well, alien doctor in the lab, or rather just a kind of cabinet I walked up to that offered me a variety of options, but you get the point - couldn’t get enough of them. And also nice to find the occasional lost artefact. Business and pleasure, that’s probing planets.

 

Back in the old days I used to be able to take a Mako down and just drive around a worryingly featureless landscape for a few hours. Maybe hack a crashed satellite and pull out an upgrade or two, maybe drop a beacon next to a massive chunk of gold. Maybe fall down a ravine. 

 

Not anymore though. Guess Cerberus’ budget didn’t stretch to putting a Mako on board. Guess I broke the bank. Oops.

 

Still, one could not zip around in space without consequence, of course, and before too long the core needed dumping. 

 

Luckily for us, the podunk system we just-so happened to be in - I’d heard there was something valuable on one of these planets, another of those lost artefacts, something someone somewhere would probably want to get their hands on - had a nice big gas giant perfect for this, and so it was around that that we were sitting.

 

And there I was, in my cabin in my briefs, sipping coffee from my ‘I heart space-Mondays’ mug, when there came a request for my presence on the bridge. Some development or other, no doubt. It was always something.

 

“Now what?” I sighed, rubbing at my temples, setting down my mug.

 

“You’ll want to see this, Commander,” said Joker’s voice through the cabin intercom. I glared at it, but this achieved nothing. I sighed again and stared at my fish instead. They swam around.

 

Why had I spent money on fish again? At least the little spaceship models were neat looking.

 

Oh yeah, Joker had been speaking to me. Something for me to see. That’d mean putting trousers on again.

 

“Cool, great, down in a sec,” I said, grunting as I stood, shuffling down to the bed to get dressed.

 

A little under a minute later I emerged from the lift and power-walked my way to the bridge, mug in hand. I came to a halt behind Joker and took an especially loud sip to announce my presence.

 

“Alright, what’s gone wrong now?” I asked.

 

“Not so much wrong as, well, just thought you’d like to know about the giant, mysterious ship that appeared out of nowhere in the same orbit as us,” said Joker.

 

I blinked.

 

“Run that by me again, thanks?” 

 

“A very, very big ship is sitting in orbit with us. Basically bumper to bumper, actually. I’m kind of afraid to move in case I scratch the paint.”

 

He sounded remarkably calm about all this. It really kind of sucked the urgency out of the situation. Then again, the situation was just so out-and-out weird that it was kind of hard to take seriously in the first place. Was I missing a joke? I blinked again.

 

“Where did it come from?” I asked.

 

“We don’t know. It literally just appeared. Not in the ‘jumped in suddenly’ sense, but in the ‘it wasn’t there one second and then it was’ sense’.”

 

“That’s...impossible?” I ventured, tentatively. 

 

“Improbable, given that it has observably happened,” EDI chipped in.

 

“Thanks, EDI,” I said, scratching my chin and wincing. A lot of me was still pretty damn raw from the whole ‘dying’ thing, and a lot of me also still looked as though I had been recently stuck back together. This was because, well, I had been.

 

I was thinking.

 

As a rule - and this I’d learnt first-hand - ships popping out of nowhere was never a good sign. Friendly people had a tendency not to do that. So what I was thinking was how best to get out of here as quickly and efficiently as possible.

 

We hadn’t finished dumping the core yet. In a pinch we could cut it now and probably run, but it would hardly be pretty and it was one of those things that would do more harm than good in the long run. 

 

Then again, in the short run getting blown to bits was also quite bad. This was something I had also learnt first-hand. Not a fan.

 

Also when we usually said that someone had come out of nowhere we usually meant they’d jumped in and we hadn’t expected it, not that they had literally come from nowhere. That was a new one for me. I had no precedent for that.

 

“Is it doing anything?” I asked. Given that no-one was panicking and no alarms were going off I assumed ‘no’.

 

“Nope. Just sitting there. Being mysterious,” said Joker.

 

That was something, at least.

 

“Right, well, put this thing up somewhere for me so I can see it.”

 

This happened, and I got a look. I imagine that my expression spoke volumes.

 

“What the hell is that?”

 

It looked as though someone had ripped a chunk off of a cathedral, turned it sideways and then stretched it out and put a big gold-inlaid beak on the front end and a nest of tubes on the back. And then covered the rest in what looked like guns, if my trained eye was any indicator. 

 

Big guns.

 

“Subtle and understated,” Joker said. I gave him the side-eye and he went quiet again.

 

“What have you got on that ship, EDI?” I asked.

 

“Very little I am afraid, Commander. It does not match anything yet encountered.”

 

I could have told myself that, but I decided not to bring that up. Instead, important questions:

 

“But it’s not a Collector ship?”

 

“No,” said EDI.

 

“Absolutely positive?”

 

“Yes.”

 

A definite plus, and I felt myself relax just a tiny bit, standing up and folding my arms.

 

“Well then.”

 

On the one hand this was an obviously good thing because it meant that we weren’t caught flat-footed (again) by murderous aliens. On the other though it meant we’d been caught flat-footed by a mysterious unknown which could quite easily turn out to be murderous aliens anyway, of some kind never-before encountered.

 

Less than ideal.

 

“What else can you tell me about it? If anything?” I asked.

 

“You might have to be more specific, Commander.”

 

I threw up her hands. Damn computers! Read the room!

 

“I don’t know! Something! Anything! Life signs. How about that? Is anyone even alive on it, for a start? Perhaps it’s a wreck.”

 

Seemed pretty unlikely, but still. A pause.

 

“I am detecting approximately sixty five thousand life signs,” said EDI after a moment.

 

Another pause, but only because I was standing there with my mouth hanging open a little bit.

 

“I’m sorry, what? Run that number by me again,” I said.

 

“Sixty five thousand life signs, approximately, Commander.”

 

“Sixty five…” I said to myself.

 

That couldn’t be right. That was ridiculous. That was colony-ship levels of people, and why would anything like a colony-ship be here in the arsecrack of absolutely fucking nowhere? And why would a colony-ship look like that anyway? 

 

Who in their right minds would put that many people on a spaceship? Why would you need that many people on a spaceship?!

 

“I have also detected several significant energy signatures that suggest weapons, and numerous external components that also appear to be weapons. They are far in excess of what a civilian vessel - even one of this size, adjusting for scale - would require to defend itself,” said EDI, as though partially reading my mind. Or, perhaps, just reading my stunned silence.

 

I’ll admit I felt a certain level of vindication about spotting the weapons, not that it improved my mood a whole lot.

 

“So it’s a warship?” I asked.

 

“It is pure conjecture at this point, Commander, but it would not be unlikely “

 

Wonderful.

 

“Well great. Fantastic. This has made my day. A bucket of guns masquerading as a spaceship and packed to the gills with people for no obvious reason pops out of thin-fucking-space-air while we’re here unable to really go anywhere or do anything about it. See if we can hail them, let’s get this over with.”

 

“You’ll take it here?” EDI asked. I gritted my teeth.

 

“Yes I’ll take it here. Not walking all the way back there to talk to them,” I said, waving a hand towards the stern where that fancy-pants quantum-entanglement communications room was sat. That just seemed a little OTT for someone who was practically close enough I could have reached out and shaken hands with them.

 

“Hailing frequencies open, Commander.”

 

I took another sip of coffee, which was now cold.

 

Let’s say I was still Alliance. Why not? It’ll be a lark. I’ll probably be able to hear Miranda pouting at me from all the way up front.

 

“Unknown vessel, this is the Systems Alliance Normandy SR-2…”


	6. Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting there...
> 
> ...slowly...

What occured between Jarrion and the mysterious ship was a halting, rather uncomfortable conversation the conclusion of which was uncertain.

It took a stumbling sentence or two for Jarrion to get a proper handle on the stranger’s odd dialect, and while he wasn’t sure he made himself entirely clear he at least made himself understood enough that the chat did not conclude with him having to give the order to open fire. A plus.

Importantly, Jarrion had established that the ship was crewed by humans, much to his relief. Though that did just raise further questions. It did mean that just shooting the ship out of hand probably wouldn’t be necessary, at least not immediately.

Beyond that though, very little had been effectively communicated. Mention of the Imperium, the Emperor, Jarrion’s status as a Rogue Trader had all failed to elicit much of a response at all, so clearly something was being lost in translation. 

“I didn’t get a word of that,” said Loghain once the connection had been cut. She was inches away from sulking as she said this.

“Uh, it was, well, the pertinent details are that the ship is called the Normandy, the crew is human and are apparently members of something called the Systems Alliance. Torian, ring any bells for you?”

Torian thought a moment.

“I’m afraid not, my Lord.”

Probably should have seen that coming. The galaxy was a big place, after all. Jarrion tutted.

“Shame,” he said.

“Now what?” Loghain asked, saying what probably everyone present was thinking but couldn’t get away with saying themselves because they weren’t Inquisitors. Or, as far as the bridge crew were concerned, they weren’t who appeared to be an Astropath who’d suddenly started following Jarrion around and that the Lord Captain was treating with remarkable deference, an act which they all knew better than to question.

Jarrion didn’t want to say - and never would - but this strange vessel was also their only present link to the greater galaxy and their only lifeline, at least until they worked something out themselves. Without these strangers it would just the Assertive alone in the void, lost, becalmed. You couldn’t ask a gas giant for directions.

So passing this up or letting it slip away wasn’t really an option as far as he was concerned. You never got anywhere by wasting opportunities. Especially not opportunities as wildly, hysterically unlikely as just-so-happening to be next to another ship so close you could practically go out and shake their hand.

If that wasn’t a sign then Jarrion didn’t know what was. The Emperor couldn’t have made his will plainer short of conjuring up a flaming sign pointing to this mysterious ship which said ‘This is important’.

“It is my feeling that we should go and have a word. In person,” said Jarrion, wagging a finger at the pictscreen.

“You want to go over there? Onto that thing?” Loghain asked in mild disbelief.

Jarrion was under no obligations to explain or justify his decisions to anyone, being the Lord Captain, but he felt that things go more smoothly if everyone else was on the same page as him. Father would probably have been horrified as such mollycoddling - a Rogue Trader led, they did not explain!

“I think we’ll all readily admit our circumstances are unusual, yes? The stars are wrong, the Astronomicon is gone and the warp is tranquil as a pond, as our good friend Inquisitor Loghain so kindly pointed out to us.” 

Loghain gave a tiny bow. This was unnecessary, and Jarrion ignored it.

The bridge crew, on learning who Loghain actually was, collectively went a bit pale. Jarrion ignored this, too.

“Think about it this way: providence has put before us humans, humans who may well provide answers or - failing that - at least some more accurate astronavigational data. We would be foolish not to take advantage of this opportunity. Indeed, a greater indicator of the Emperor’s protection on this voyage you’d be hard-pressed to find, shunning it would be foolhardy,” said Jarrion. He was definitely using The Voice again at this point.

He looked around for objections. None were voiced. He continued:

“Further, consider this: there is a distinct possibility we have been set adrift in some long-forgotten corner of the galaxy. Maybe the strange stars and unnatural quiet is simply some quirk of the local landscape? Stranger things have happened, have they not? And humanity has still managed to reach here, to this place! Isn’t our duty to bring this unknown land - and our long-lost brothers - back into the fold so that they too may bask in the Emperor’s light?”

The silence continued, though now somewhat more subdued. It seemed his outburst, if not fully convincing everyone present that it was a good idea, had at least convinced them it was the best idea available. Or at least convinced them to keep their opinions to themselves.

Torian was the one to speak up first, clearing his throat beforehand and then asking:

“Who do you propose shall go, my Lord?”

This was a refreshingly easy question to answer.

“Well myself of course, obviously - I’m the Lord Captain. Thale, too. You, Torian, naturally, and-”

Pak, off to the side, let out a soto-voce burst of static, much as an unaugmented individual might have conspicuously cleared their throat. Jarrion didn’t miss a beat.

“Pak will be coming as our representative of the Mechanicus. They can also help administer to the translation servitor we’ll be taking with us. Yes, Pak?”

Pak nodded.

“Thank you, Pak.”

“I would recommend leaving the servitor behind, Jarr- Lord Captain. They often have an...uncomfortable effect on those outside the Imperial fold, I’ve found,” Loghain said, interrupting Jarrion’s flow. He gritted his teeth but had to admit he hadn’t considered this.

Previous contact with some of the lost or out-of-contact colonies and various lost pockets of humanity had shown Jarrion that, on occasion, when the local tech-level had decayed or deviated sufficiently that they weren’t even aware of the Adeptus Mechanicus, the sight of a servitor or a techpriest could cause an adverse reaction.

Like screaming. Or weapons being discharged.

Unfortunate.

“Are you saying they won’t have servitors? They have a spacefaring vessel, I’d hate to sell them short,” he asked over his shoulder at her. She shrugged lightly, arms folded.

“I am saying that we should perhaps assume they don’t and that the appearance of one might cause them some disquiet. This is something I’ve seen before. I feel it best that we approach with full tact and delicacy. Given the circumstances. Make as few ripples as possible.”

Her face shifted to make it clear she was looking at Pak. A flick of the eye would have been enough, but that wasn’t exactly an option for her.

“Or at least as much tact and delicacy as we have available, given that esteemed Magos Pak likely cannot be dissuaded from accompanying you?” 

Pak made a noise that you did not have to understand to know was curt.

“I thought not,” Loghain said, turning bodily back to Jarrion again. “Do not worry about the servitor. I will be able to translate for you,” she said.

Given that he’d just conducted a conversation pretty much on the fly and entirely without assistance he wasn’t sure she was offering this service in the first place and Jarrion was going to question this professed aptitude at translating a new and unknown dialect before he remembering that, given the ease with which she conducted herself in the absence of eyes, she was likely a psyker. 

The sudden realisation of this particular detail made his skin crawl and it was an effort not to let it show. 

He wondered whether she was poking around inside his head right now but quietly dismissed the thought. From what he’d learnt he would have noticed that. Probably.

Her constant bloody grinning didn’t help though.

“So you’ll be coming as well, I take it?” He asked her.

“Yes.”

Jarrion’s brow furrowed. He wondered whether this was the sort of thing he would be able to forbid from happening. Then he realised he wasn’t even sure he’d have wanted to even if it was. As pompous and self-important as Inquisitors could apparently be - and this one was proving to be - having a psyker around could always prove useful.

That, and having her around would make it easier to keep an eye on her. He sighed.

“I imagine that if I did say no to you you’d only hijack a voidsuit and cling to the outside of the lighter anyway.”

“Why, it’s like we’ve met before, Lord Captain,” Loghain said, sweetly.

“I think I preferred you people when you were sinister and distant rather than whimsical and present,” Jarrion said. Loghain just kept on smiling at him, so he sighed again.

“Well that’s settled then. I shall trust to your translation abilities. And my own, such as they are.”

“Lord, might I recommend a small complement of armsmen? We cannot be sure of their friendliness,” Torian interjected.

“Thale not enough for you, Torian?” Jarrion asked, Torian just looked blank. Jarrion wasn’t sure what reaction he had expected to get. “I suppose armsmen couldn’t hurt either. It’s what I pay them for. Master at Arms, if you would,” Jarrion said.

“Lord Captain,” said the Master at Arms, getting started on organising that. While that was going on, Jarrion hailed the mystery ship again and - another fumbling, slightly stilted conversation later - tentative permission to send over a single lighter had been granted. 

“Right, well, let’s go and say hello, hmm? Orseus, you have the helm until our return,” Jarrion said, rising from his command throne and nodding to Oresus.

Oresus being the next-most senior member of House Croesus staff on-board after Torian, and a notably inoffensive and forgettable safe pair of hands whenever Jarrion needed Torian to be somewhere else. 

“My Lord,” Oresus said, nodding to Jarrion.

With that, the friendly-visit party quit the bridge and took the Assertive’s internal travel system to the lighter bay.

A squad of twelve void-carapace wearing, shotgun-toting armsmen met them on their arrival, standing in attention in two rows. One, Jarrion noted, was carrying a naval shotcannon. This seemed like overkill on what was ostensibly a friendly mission of greeting, but then again overkill was often just being prepared, and he couldn’t really object to that.

Some distance behind them was the lighter being prepared, a gaggle of techpriests and attendant servitors going through the rituals required for a safe journey to be conducted. Even from where he was standing the incense made Jarrion’s eyes water. Incense always did that to him. 

He watched a moment as one of the techpriests reached the end of a particular line of the activation chant and another of them struck the lighter with a wrench. The first priest then anointed the struck spot with a dab of oil and the whole group moved around to the other side.

The chanting continued.


	7. Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MORE talking? Yes, more talking. My pacing is terrible as you shall all soon learn. Still, we're getting somewhere.
> 
> Right?
> 
> Also, soon, we'll all start getting into the nitty-gritty of how I think the 40K universe works in comparison to the ME one, and we all get into a big argument about how grimdark the Imperium is or isn't. It'll be great.

“Whelp,” I said, closing the channel.

That had been an odd experience. Two odd experiences, actually.

The first hadn’t really established anything beyond a surprising communications barrier. Oh, and that the ship was a human ship. Somehow. Figure that one out. Who knew we built them that big? How long had I been out again?

The second odd experience had been the captain of the giant ship - a guy named ‘Jarrion’, apparently - requesting permission to come over and speak face-to-face. Something of a surprise but, given the technical and linguistic issues we were having, maybe a practical idea.

Still. Kind of weird though. And the sort of thing that got a paranoid person like me a little itchy between the shoulder blades.

I mean, I’m a friendly lady! But space is dangerous. Especially for me, where it seems about half of everyone I run into has a reason to want to try and shoot me. It’s exhausting.

By the time the second bout of communication had come to a close the bridge had got a bit more crowded. Miranda had been the first to come up to see what all the fuss was about, unsurprisingly, followed swiftly by Jacob and with Garrus just wandering in not long after that. 

Things had got a touch snug, but I’d had worse.

“They want to come here?” Miranda asked. EDI had explained the details - such as were available, at least - to them while I’d been having the talk about coming over and so we were all more-or-less on the same page. Which wasn’t saying much, seeing as how the page was nothing but a collection of question marks at this point.

“Apparently,” I said, shrugging. They’d all heard the same thing I had.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Jacob asked.

“It seems a better idea than saying ‘no’ to the guy in charge of a ship that appears to be about eighty-percent gun. If they’re over here talking they’re not over there doing something we might regret.”

All present took a moment to consider this. Jacob then said:

“...guess you got a point there, Commander.”

“Almost like they put me in charge for a reason. Guessing that ship hasn’t done anything interesting yet, EDI?” I asked.

“You may have to define ‘interesting’.”

I swear to God sometimes EDI was obtuse on purpose.

“Threatening,” I said, gesticulating.

“Then no, Commander.”

“Good, cool. Put me through to the other members of my super group, if you’d be so kind. Jack too, hanging around down there.”

“Patching in the super group, Commander,” said EDI, earning a sour look from Miranda who did not approve of the name. I took another sip from my mug, grimaced at just how cold and foul my coffee now was, set the mug down and then cleared my throat.

“Alright, something’s come up and I’m going to need your attention,” I said, then continuing before anyone could interrupt: “Those of you who weren’t up front to hear what just happened let me bottom line it for you: a guy is coming over. We don’t know anything about him but he’s got a big ship that just showed up so we’re going to try and play nice. They’ll be arriving in the hanger in - uh, EDI, do we have an eta?”

“Nothing has left the other vessel, Commander.”

Typical.

“Right, so they’ll be arriving in the hanger sometime in the next one hundred years or so. I’ll be down there waiting and so will all of you. I want you lot ready to throw down, alright? But don’t look ready to throw down. Get it?”

“What?” Miranda asked, clearly baffled. Good.

“So, business casual?” Garrus said, arms folded. I snapped my fingers and pointed at him.

“Vakarian gets it. Oh, and get a couple of security guys to just stand in the background as well. Just, you know, in case. We do have security guys on this thing, right?”

“Yes, but-” Miranda said but I had a feeling she was about to say something to damage my calm so cut across her.

“Cool, get ‘em down there. Give them an Avenger or something. They can act like they’re helping if anything goes wrong.”

You could not pay me to use an Avenger. It’s irrational, I know, but they just make my skin crawl. They’re just everywhere! And they’re so rubbish! Harsh language would be more effective.

They can pry my Mattock out of my cold, dead hands.

“I’m going to go and put some actual clothes on. EDI, when you see something leave that ship you tell us, then it’s everyone in the hanger in five minutes, okay?”

A chorus of affirmation from everyone. Very gratifying. 

The super group link cut, everyone broke up to go do whatever it was they felt they might need to get ready. For me, that meant looking less like I’d just fallen backwards through a hedge, one of those nice low-profile kinetic barrier units like Miranda favoured and a cheeky Phalanx in case things got messy.

Just a pistol made me feel basically naked but I figured since I’d probably be the one doing the talking it might be tactful to not look too tooled up.

I mean, I do conduct important conversations with questionable people while I’m in full armour and armed to the teeth but, you know, tact. First impressions and all that. This is meant to be friendly, so showing up looking like I’m just waiting for an excuse to start shooting is probably a bad idea.

Life can be so complicated sometimes.

While I was just finishing lacing up my boots EDI gave the word that a small craft had been detected launching from the mystery ship and was heading on over, due to arrive in fifteen, twenty minutes say. Nippy little thing if that’s the case, given the distance. 

I hustled on down. Most everyone was already there, which I was happy to see, and they’d all taken my instruction on appearing casual mostly to heart. Weaponry was light, but not so light I would feel vulnerable knowing it was behind me, backing me up. Good job, guys.

Especially you, Garrus. You’re my rock.

“Now,” I said, standing in front of everyone. “This is kind of an odd situation I’m aware but let’s just take it a step at a time, alright? Mysterious spaceship appears literally out of nowhere? We can roll with that. I’ll be doing the talking - these guys seem to have some language issues. Any questions?”

“Lots but, you know, we’re against the clock here,” said Garrus, who seemed to sum up the mood of everyone else who all just nodded.

Again, Garrus man, where would I be with you?

“I have given the shuttle docking permission and guidance instructions, Commander, it is making its final approach,” said EDI.

“Game faces, everyone. Just another day at the office,” I said.

The hanger was some big two-door deal so while we were standing there breathing comfortably we all listened to the big clunk and whine of the exterior doors opening to admit our guests, followed shortly by the sound of them closing again and the atmosphere being equalised.

Then the inner doors opened and we got our first eyes-on look.

The shuttle - that Jarrion guy had called it a ‘lighter’ when we’d spoken - was, uh, functional looking. That’d be the polite way of describing it. It was the kind of craft that looked like if you threw it at a building it would probably still be able to keep going afterwards. Chunky.

I actually kind of liked it, if I’m being honest. It had character. Ugly character, but character all the same. The big double-headed eagle logo was kind of neat, too.

It sat there venting steam for a second or so before a big hatch hissed and unfurled, folding down onto the deck. From inside came first a good dozen or so guys in full armour, carrying guns that really didn’t need to be as big as they were.

Clearly me and our new friends had different ideas of what made a good first impression.

These armoured guys split into two ranks of six and took up position either side of the ramp and then came out the ones who were clearly the actual movers and shakers. 

There was someone in full-on, bright-red robes, hood up. Kind of difficult to tell anything else about them because their hands were in their sleeves, too. There was a guy who looked so old it was actually kind of surprising he was standing in the first place. There was another guy in armour who looked like he was carrying enough guns for three people. There was a lady wearing a blindfold of all things and, finally, leading them all, a flamboyant man in the most over-the-top naval-style uniform I think I’d ever seen in my life.

Epaulettes and everything. Enough gold rope to choke a horse.

This man was also smiling. Jarrion, I assumed. He came striding down the ramp like he owned the place, scanned along all of us, fixed his eyes on me - good eye, him, to be able to spot the one in charge that quick - and came strolling forward,

“Greetings, fellow - those aren’t human,” he said, his greeting dying in his throat as his eyes snapped to the aliens mixed in among the waiting humans.

There was a split-second of nothing much at all, and then hands went to weapons.


	8. Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course the great benefit of Rogue Traders - and Inquisitors, though to a far lesser extent - is that they offer far greater lattitude in how they interact with the galaxy and what's in it than with your other options. You know? 40K is full of opportunities to do pretty much what you like but these two are both in positions to really call their own shots, albeit in different ways.
> 
> And, really, by this point the rather light tone of the piece should be obvious so while I'd love to just run roughshod and do a proper "ONLY IN DEATH DOES DUTY END" kind of thing it's just really not my wheelhouse. Though, if I did, it'd probably be my other idea about a group of Imperial Guard assets getting lost, because they'd have no excuse but to start murdering every alien they happened to set their eyes on.
> 
> But I digress. More words. I'm sure we'll all have our opinions.

It was mostly instinctual, mostly a reflex. The sight of something non-human just touched a spot in the human brain that led to an automatic reaction.

Entirely understandable, of course, and only right and proper. 

Jarrion’s stint on the Assertive had not involved an abundance of contact with aliens. Given that he’d basically just been charged with patrolling territory already purged and claimed he hadn’t expected it to. What aliens had been present around what were now House Croesus holdings had all be removed years previously, and fairly thoroughly to boot.

But there had been some holdouts, desperate remnants striking back at the colonists every now and then, more out of spite than anything else. These Jarrion had spent some time dealing with; tracing vessels back to this or that hidden base before either taking them out from orbit or - when they proved too well-protected for this to be practical - going down with the armsmen to help root them out the old-fashioned way. 

So all alien contact those on-board the Assertive had been, up until right this moment in this hanger on this strange ship, exclusively hostile. Because what other sort of contact was possible with aliens, really? So it was a reflex that saw weapons being drawn, a gut reaction.

And of course, the strangers - and the xenos - pulled out their own weapons, slipping them off of hips or pulling them off their backs whereupon they sprang out and unfolded, quite unlike a weapon should.   
Even Torian whipped out the ancient stub revolver he forever carried with him, raising it with a shaking hand to point in the vague direction of the nearest threatening looking crewmember, whose eyes widened and whose fingers tightened around the weirdly-curved, sleek white rifle they were holding.

Understandably this turned the mood in the hanger a bit sour. But no-one fired a shot. Not yet.

Rogue Traders had something of a reputation - among those people who knew about such things enough to be aware of reputations, or of the existence of Rogue Traders in the first place, of course - of cheerfully consorting with aliens and, indeed, there were many who did.

House Croesus was not one of them. 

Jarrion had seen aliens in his time, of course, even prior to his captaincy. But almost all of them had either been dead on him meeting them or else dead not long after, more than once by his own hand. It was just how father operated, and so how the others were expected to operate too. 

Some Rogue Traders felt that aliens - like all available resources - could be put to a good use by those with sufficient freedom and imagination. House Croesus felt that ammunition was cheap and time spent attempting to exploit aliens was time that could be better spent making sure the galaxy had fewer aliens in it.

Which was fair. 

Normally, there would have been very little cause to deviate from standard procedure. But things were not normal. Things were thoroughly abnormal and confused, sadly, and so softly-softly was called for, at least for now.

As much as it pained Jarrion and as much as some deep-seated, visceral part of him dearly wanted to kill everything in the hanger and seize the ship by force he knew that this would only create problems in the long run. 

The ability to plan ahead was valuable to a Rogue Trader, he’d learnt, having seen the sort of problems his father had had to end up shooting because he’d shot something else earlier, and being uncomfortable in the present was preferable to being destitute or dead in the future. This much seemed obvious.

Unfortunately, being the one in charge, Jarrion was the one who had to try and make this happen.

“Calm, calm, let’s not act rashly now, hmm?” He said, interposing himself between the two sides, holding out his hands and giving a version to everyone that they would hopefully be able to understand. The mood did not immediately lighten.

“You do see the armed aliens, don’t you?” Loghain asked.

“Yes I did but I also saw that they were outnumbered by the humans - don’t some of these unincorporated types associate with alien mercenaries from time to time? Heretical, yes, but they don’t know any better do they? Emperor’s teeth there are Rogue Traders that pal around with aliens if it benefits humanity as a whole! Exitus acta probat, hmm? No shooting! Guns down! That means you too, Torian!”

Torian seemed almost grateful to be allowed to lower his arm, panting a little as he holstered it again. For one reason or another this served as a signal to everyone else, too, as all other guns went down at the same time, though fingers did not stray too far from triggers.

The mood in the hanger softened noticeably.

“Would you know a lot about palling around with aliens, Lord Captain?” Loghain asked, politely, loud enough that no-one wouldn’t have been able to avoid hearing it. 

There were a lot of very angry things that Jarrion felt like saying at that moment, but he bit back on them and said instead:

“Later, Loghain, you and I are going to have a very serious and very length conversation about what it is you’re doing on my ship and also about what constitutes the undermining of authority.”

“I look forward to it, Lord Captain.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose Jarrion took a breath, re-affixed his smile and turned back to severe looking, heavily scarred, shaven-scalped woman he’d assumed was in charge, keeping his arms spread and hands open.

“Terribly sorry about that,” he said. He’d spent the lighter trip over going over some of the stickier points of the dialect and so his words came out a lot smoother. 

Again, the augmetics really helped here. That full-language comprehension aid suite had been worth not just the expense but the extend discomfort of its implantation and the occasional splitting headache that he still enjoyed every now and then. Actually getting to properly use it was at least one positive out of this whole experience.

“Happens to the best of us,” the woman said with remarkable calm, then: “Commander Shepard of the Systems Alliance, presently working alongside an outside agency.”

This she said while glancing to a woman in an impractical bodyglove, who did not rise to the bait. If this glance was meant to convey anything it was lost on Jarrion.

Starting over seemed like a good idea. Jarrion took a breath and put on a smile and decided to give the best second impression possible. Something to smooth things over.

“Hail and greetings, Commander Shepard,” Jarrion said in High Gothic, feeling it perhaps best to go formal. Shepard blinked, clearly not having understood a single word. Perhaps formal hadn’t been the best idea after all. In fact, why had it even looked like a good idea at all in the first place? 

Jarrion coughed and started over with words she could probably understand: “A pleasure to meet you. Apologies for that little, ah, misunderstanding on our arrival. Trying times. I am Jarrion, of House Croesus.”

Shepard looked only a little less blank.

“Hello. House Croesus?” She asked.

This was not going the way Jarrion had hoped, and he could practically feel the eyes of his little entourage burning into the back of his neck. Smile bolted firmly in place he pressed on. Always best to keep pushing forward, as father always said!

“Apologies. I am so used to my family reputation preceding me! I am a Rogue Trader.”

This had been mentioned during their communication but it seemed to have slipped past her. He’d hoped this might finally clear things up. Shepard’s face made it obvious that it did not. 

Jarrion could feel the momentum of the conversation rapidly slipping away and decided to keep on pressing on before being forced again to give another useless answer to a simple question. 

He took a step to the side and swept his arms towards the entourage.

“And allow to introduce some of the fine members of my crew!” He said, perhaps more loudly than he needed to. “Thale, my stalwart bodyguard! Torian, loyal, venerable seneschal of my House. Keeps me honest! Pak over there, our resident representative of the Mechanicus and, uh-”

He fumbled when he got to Loghain.

“And, ah, Loghain. Who is an ambassador. Yes. An ambassador.”

He couldn’t be sure and didn’t want to take the time to check, but he could have sworn Loghain smirked at that.

Shepard stared at Jarrion’s crew, none of whom had moved or spoken or even reacted in any way to being introduced. She gave them all a nod then turned back to Jarrion again.

“And you were just in the Neighbourhood? You kind of snuck up on us.”

“We are the victim of unusual circumstances,” Jarrion said, lightly.

“There’s a lot of that going around. That ship of yours is something else.”

Here Jarrion saw a point he could perhaps use to make everyone feel more at ease. After all, what captain doesn’t like talking about their ship? A fabulous opportunity for an ice breaker. He made sure to use The Voice, the best to project charisma and authority. Or at least try to.

“The Assertive? Fine vessel, isn’t she? My first command, would you believe! Just taking it on a brief tour of father’s more recent holdings. Showing the House colours, you know? Assisting where required. Helping the locals remember the Imperium still exists! Ah, but where are my manners? This, ah, Normandy of yours is a rather lovely ship if you don’t mind me saying so. Quite unlike anything I’ve ever seen myself.”

“This is actually the second one. The first was destroyed two years ago,” Shepard said, somewhat cagily. Jarrion rolled with it.

“Terribly sorry to hear it. That must have been a blow for you.”

“You could say that. If you don’t mind me asking, how did you manage to get a ship of that size?” She asked. Jarrion frowned. To him the Assertive was a healthy size but certainly not the vast ship that Shepard seemed to be implying it was. Certainly nothing like father’s Mars.

Then again, Jarrion thought, this little ‘System Alliance’ that Shepard claimed to be part of might lack the facilities for vessels on a similar scale. It wouldn’t be unheard of. Little ships for a little system, puttering about from world to world. All very provincial. Best to humour them, while also perhaps doing just that bit extra to help impress.

“You flatter me, Commander. The Assertive is only a light cruiser - you should see my brother’s ship. Indeed, you should see my father’s ship! I can’t really speak for the the Assertive’s exact provenance, I’m afraid. It’s been in the family longer than I’ve been alive. Father mentioned once it being reclaimed, but who knows where from? The navy leaves so many wrecks.”

“Whose navy?” Shepard pressed.

“The Imperium’s.”

“What’s the Imperium?”

Well that definitely settled some things. They were definitely in the sticks if this questioned needed to be asked. Not unexpected, of course. Not out of the ordinary. These backwaters, who knew what they’d forgotten of the greater galaxy? Maybe the founding of this ‘Systems Alliance’ predated the Imperium! 

Unlikely, sure, but stranger things happened. 

With great effort Jarrion set his face to a look of pleasant, friendly neutrality.

“Might it possible to conduct this meeting somewhere more comfortable? Torian is an old man, after all, and it can hardly be comfortable to be standing for so long,” Jarrion said, earning himself a bemused look from his seneschal whose ears had pricked up at the sound of his name.

Shepard eyed Jarrion and then the rest of the group with potent skepticism. The old man did look pretty, well, old, so she supposed there was a possibility the request was honest. For her part, having a conversation while standing in the hanger with two tense armed groups wasn’t wholly her idea of a good time. Pretty normal, yes, but not especially enjoyable.

“Alright. Your people and you and I can carry this on in the communication room. And I do just mean your people, just these ones - not the guys in armour,” she said, pointing to those standing with Jarrion.

“That’s quite alright, the armsmen can remain here with our lighter if you’d allow that?”

“That’s fine. They’re not going to start anything, right?”

“Oh no no, not at all.”

“Right,” she said, eyes sweeping over Jarrion and the others and trying to count the guns she could see. She lost count pretty quickly.

“For the sake of friendly diplomacy could you leave your guns here? And your sword.”

Shepard felt it best not to let the fact the guy was wearing a sword faze her. That he looked like someone had stuck every European naval uniform from the seventeenth century onwards into a blender and poured the results out on top of someone was bad enough.

She’d also expected objections and was honestly surprised when none appeared forthcoming. She’d have objected.

“By all means,” Jarrion said, motioning for his immediate entourage to do as they were told and pass their weapons to the armsmen for safekeeping. This occurred without any grumbling whatsoever, armsmen stepping up to take things as they were reading.

The armsman who ended up being handed Thale’s weapons had the body language of someone entrusted with a priceless and indescribably fragile artefact. His rigid terror was obvious even through his armour. Thale gave the man a wink, which did not appear to help his calm.

Jarrion had seen the request to disarm coming. He had seen it happen before. Once or twice - while serving directly on his father’s ship - similar requests had been made by this or that dignitary or head of planetary governance and had, of course, been ignored. 

His father wasn’t typically in the habit of doing what others told him to do, especially given as very few others were at his level of social standing in the Imperium. The results had always been a significant level of discomfort in those whose requests had been rebuffed, Jarrion had noticed. 

Now while that might not have bothered his father (and, indeed, maybe have been the point) Jarrion had decided to affect a reputation as the nicer of the scions of House Croesus, and part of this was an apparent willingness to speak on equal, peaceful terms with those various authority figures he happened to need to talk to. Even if their authority was trifling or laughably pathetic, it was the thought that counted.

In his experience so far it had paid dividends. People were a lot more friendly and open when you didn’t snub their requests and conduct talks while strapped to the nines. Or so Jarrion liked to think, at least.

In this particular instance he was particularly aware of the need to appear friendly, especially given how close a firefight had appeared to have been on their arrival.

Besides, they’d all been carrying obvious weapons for just this reason, at Jarrion’s insistence and as was standard practise on such meetings he conducted. 

Handing off the bigger, more belligerent looking firearms and the unbuckling of the sword from Jarrion’s belt drew attention away from the many, many places on Thale’s person that could easily - and were easily - concealing weapons and also from the fact that Jarrion was wearing a lot more rings than he usually did.

Appear polite. Be prepared. If these Systems Alliance people thought that the guns and sword were the only weapons Jarrion and his cohorts were carrying then he was more than happy to let them keep thinking that.

Loghain, for her part, hadn’t apparently carried a weapon at any point since making her first appearance. Which was just unsettling. What sort of Imperial citizen walked around unarmed? And an Inquisitor, no less? It set the mind wandering, and not anywhere nice.

Probably intentional.

Orders were given to the armsmen to return to the lighter, leaving a posting of two to stand guard while the rest waited inside. Garrus and Miranda and the others also dispersed, leaving behind a handful of very confused Cerberus crew with Avengers to stand around and keep an eye on things.

Once everything was settled and sorted Shepard nodded back towards the lift, the doors of which opened almost as if on cue.

“This way,” she said.

And they followed.


	9. Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My galactic geography is probably way off but fuck it no-one's paying me and I checked two maps online what more do you people want.

The ride in the lift was tense. Jarrion could tell his decision making was being questioned, silently. He could feel it coming off the others in waves. A quick glance over his shoulder only served to confirm this - they were all looking at him as though he was mad.

Well, Torian and Loghain, at least. Which was impressive for Loghain, all things considered. Jarrion decided to ignore her and focus on Torian, given he was the one who appeared the most aghast of the two.

Thale was as impassive as he always was.

“You seem agitated, Torian,” Jarrion said, cheerful enough, idly considering for a moment how much Low Gothic the Commander might be able to catch.

“There are xenos onboard this ship, my Lord!” Torian hissed, having very conspicuously switched to High Gothic to do so. He hadn’t understood a word the strange new human had said but he had been sharp enough to notice her complete lack of understanding at Jarrion’s bungled formality.

Little slid past Torian, or at least little that he could make use of.

“I noticed, Torian,” Jarrion hissed right back out of the corner of his mouth, also in High Gothic. “But we have something we’re here to do so let’s try and stay on-mission, yes? We can deal with the aliens later. All in good time.”

“Is there a problem?” Shepard asked, looking sideways at the pair of them. Jarrion straightened up, having bent to better whisper at his stooped seneschal.

“Not at all, Commander. It is merely that, ah, that this ship is very quiet. We aren’t used to it. Makes an old man like Torian a little nervous, I’m sorry to say.”

True, while also being a lie. 

Now that he’d mentioned it Jarrion couldn’t help but notice just how deafeningly, overwhelmingly quiet the ship actually was. Other than the soft hum of the elevator as it rose he could hardly hear anything. Not the rattling of ducts, not the constant background thrum of the engine, not the creak of the plating. Nothing. It was deeply unnerving, like the ship was dead. He shivered.

Shepard, for her part, was unnerved by how her translator failed to understand a word of what had been said between the two men, much as it failed to understand what the flamboyant captain had said to her back down below when he’d done what he’d obviously thought was a very polite introduction. 

It had struggled in vain to grasp something and when the two of them had been talking it had seemingly latched onto one or two semi-familiar words or sounds here or there, but the rest had been gibberish. Even now it was still trying to work it out, so far without any obvious success. 

Whatever it was they’d spoken it wasn’t any language she’d heard before, or that the software had heard before, either. Unusual, to the say the least. Not unheard of or impossible, but unusual.

There was a lot of unusual going around, apparently.

At least it had kind of understood the first bit that Jarrion had said, before he’d turned around and started his little whispering match with the old guy. That at least was something that kind of felt like progress. 

Every little helped.

Before too long the elevator got to where it was meant to be going and, Shepard led the little group around a corner and through or two and into the conference room.

“Sit, sit anywhere,” she said, gesturing to the various chairs that were sat about the place. From the way that Jarrion came in and started she got the impression he’d been expecting bigger, but he smiled effacingly in that way he did a lot and picked a chair anyway.

The chair he picked was right beside the one she herself picked. The others all sat the far end of the table and stared. Even the woman with the blindfold and the one in the robes with the hood whose face was still almost entirely hidden. They just at the end of the table, silently.

Shepard just ignored them. Jarrion seemed willing enough to talk for everyone in the room anyway.

“Commander,” he said, pleasantly. “I am sure there are many questions you wish to ask of me and I of you, and I imagine we shall find time for that. I also feel that - were we to attempt to establish who or what you or I are and why we are here we would only end up with even more questions needing to be asked, and neither of us get anywhere.”

This was a mouthful, but Shepard followed it and nodded.

“So we should probably cut straight to the reason why you wanted to come over here to talk.”

“Yes indeed, thank you. To put it plainly, we are lost. I hate to have to ask you for a favour so soon after meeting you, but could you perhaps provide us with some local data? Or better yet, some astronavigational data of the local sector, if at all possible. Just so that we could get our bearings.”

Shepard had been asked for more, this wasn’t that dear. She shrugged.

“That all? Sure, I don’t see why not.”

Jarrion’s face lit up in what was possible the most genuine expression of happiness she’d seen yet. It wasn’t a great look, but it was better than his business smile.

“Wonderful! I shall speak to Pak about the details of the data transfer in a moment - but, ah, just to ease my personal curiosity would it be possible for you to perhaps tells us where we are?” He asked. Shepard raised an eyebrow, an act which did interesting things to the scars on her face.

“You really are lost, aren’t you?”

Jarrion’s smile got self-effacing again, and he shrugged, hands out and palms up. The guy really did have a lot of rings on, Shepard noticed. 

“It’s a uniquely diquesting experience,” he said.

“I bet. Yeah alright, give me a sec.”

She could have asked EDI to do it wasn’t the hardest thing in the world so didn’t really see the point. Bringing up her omnitool and giving it a few taps she got a map of the galaxy to spring into view in the centre of the table and, with another few taps, zoomed in to where they were right at that moment, or near enough.

Jarrion’s eyes widened a little at this, and Shepard could have sworn that that Pak guy - guy? - made some sort of clicking sound, but it had been difficult to make out.

“Fascinating device. And ah, thank you. Where might we be at this moment?” Jarrion asked, gesturing to the map display hovering before them.

Her fingers moved again and a single point on the map was highlighted, a twinkling dot standing out amidst all the others, sitting in the midst of an area delineated by a vague boundary line.

“We are here,” she said. “Hourglass Nebula, Terminus Systems. This whole area here would be the Terminus systems. I think the planet outside right now is, uh, what was it again, EDI?”

“Nephros, Commander,” said a voice, presumably belonging to someone somewhere else on the ship with immediate access to that information. Shepard snapped her fingers.

“Nephros, right. That answer anything for you?”

Segmentum Obscurus. What she was talking about was Segmentum Obscurus, or at least a broadly similar area. Where they appeared to be right at that moment - according to her - wasn’t that remote or far-removed. They weren’t even out on the fringes. The warp should have been churning. Imperial presence should have been obvious. Segmentum Obscurus was not a notably peaceful one even by Imperial standards.

Jarrion swallowed as his mind clutched desperately for possibilities. 

It was technically possible for a human to have not heard of the Imperium. He knew this. He’d been over this. Technically possible. You did indeed sometimes find such people, as a Rogue Trader. Long-lost colonies having entirely forgotten their origins, completely unaware of their Imperial obligations. These things happened. It was technically possible.

But where they were supposed to be? 

Not really. Going from the unlikely to the borderline-impossible. This was not the sticks.

“C-could you - could you possibly - what is here, if you don’t mind me asking?” Jarrion asked, pointing a slightly trembling finger to the point on the map where the Eye of Terror should have been. Should have been, but wasn’t. In fact, Jarrion couldn’t see any sign of it anywhere.

Probably just a mistake. It wasn’t exactly the sort of thing you could miss. Even light years away you could see the bloody thing. It was a significant factor in navigation, even! Had Altrx not spotted it from the otherside of the galaxy Jarrion might have understood, but from where they were? Ludicrous. 

Why wouldn’t it be there? Had to be a mistake.

“There? Nothing. Were you expecting something?”

Jarrion swallowed.

“No just - ah - checking. And Terra? Where is Terra? Here, yes?” He asked, pointing. Again, Shepard gave him the same odd look. Delicately, she reached out, took him by the wrist, and moved his finger so it was pointing quite a far way across the map and down.

“No, here.”

“Ah, m-my mistake, of course. Our maps must be rotated incorrectly. A simple misunderstanding.”

He’d expected something like this, but nowhere near as confounding as it was turning out. He’d hoped to have found some nugget, some kernel of information he recognised that he could immediately operate off of, but everything was upside down and back to front. It did not feel comfortable. 

Jarrion licked his lips and swallowed again, though his throat was uncomfortably dry. A nagging suspicion tugged at his hindbrain and before he’d even fully considered the absurdity it suggested he found himself asking:

“Ah, Commander, just to further satisfy my curiosity you wouldn’t mind telling me what year it is, would you?”

Shepard blinked.

“The year? Twenty-one fifty-eight,” she said.

Jarrion jolted. That couldn’t be right.

Sure, yes, he’d been prepared for something unusual. Some difference in positioning, yes, that would be fine, that would be expected. Some difference in time? It would be unfortunate, but he was sure he could rise above it. As he’d already said to Loghain it was a possibility, it had been recorded happening before.

What the Commander had said though just couldn’t be right. Couldn’t be!

“A local calendar, presumably,” he said, evenly, casually, settling on this as the most reasonable explanation. It did happen with fair regularity, after all, just rarely with so low a number. Shepard shook her head.

“No, that’s the year it is back on Earth. We’re working off of that calendar.”

Another, bigger jolt. Jarrion stared into space.

He was out of ideas at this point. At this point he mostly just wanted a lie down in a dark room with a glass of amasec. He somehow doubted he’d get the opportunity anytime soon.

“Something wrong?” Shepard asked as the silence drew on, reminding Jarrion that he had just been stood stock-still looking at nothing since she’d spoken last. He jerked upright and smiled, though the smile was getting very threadbare and strained.

“Could I - would you mind if I took a moment to discuss matters with my crew?” He asked. Shepard wordlessly indicated one of the empty seats further along the table and the Rogue Trader rose briefly only to slump again next to the others, his elbows on the conference table and his head in his hands.

“What is she saying? Where are we?” Torian asked, leaning in and whispering, making sure to stick to High Gothic with a wary glance Shepard’s way. The Commander had her arms folded and was watching silently.

“Nevermind where! When! When! She’s claiming we’re in the year twenty-one fifty-eight! Says that’s the year on Terra right at this very moment! Two one five eight! The third millennium!” Jarrion hissed through his fingers. Torian’s eyes widened.

“She’s lying! She has to be!”

“She’s not,” Loghain said, butting in.

“How would you know?” Jarrion snapped back, the tension of the situation finally cutting into his good humour. Loghain did not appear to notice. Or care. She just pointed to her eyes or, rather, her lack of them.

“I haven’t been avoiding bumping into things by guesswork. I actually am a psyker, in case you hadn’t worked that out yet. She’s not lying.”

Jarrion faltered, but hid it well. In all the excitement he had actually forgotten about that particular detail. Suddenly he was slightly worried about what might be on his mind without him realising it.

“What is she thinking, then?” He asked.

“I’m only reading the surface. I won’t push for deeper right now. She’s being entirely honest with us. She’s skeptical about us and wary of our origins and motives but she’s not lying at all.”

“But that’s impossible! She must be misinformed!” Torian hissed.

Loghain shook her head.

“Travel through time on account of the Warp is not unknown,” she said, evenly. 

Jarrion laid his hands down on the table. That she’d said it so evenly was really what got under skin. As though this was in any way a reasonable turn of events.

“I know that, we went over that. Ships arriving before they leave, ships taking decades to show up but only feeling as though they’ve been in transit for weeks. We’ve all heard about that. But I’ve never heard of anything like this. M3! That’s - that’s ancient history! That’s before the Age of Strife! Before the Great Crusade! Before - everything!” He said.

Thale - who did not speak High Gothic anywhere near fluency - sat through all of this with the blissfully resigned look of a man who had long-ago found his place in life one where he would rarely have any idea what was going on and who had settled comfortably into this.

Likewise, while Shepard’s translation software - with some fresh assistance from EDI - was still doing its job of trying to get a handle on what the strangers were saying, so far all she was getting was snatches and nothing near enough for her to actually know what they were talking about. Eventually it’d probably start working, but for now she was still getting nothing.

“Are they okay?” Shepard asked Thale, for want of anything else to do. Since he was sat on closest to her and wasn’t involved he seemed the best person to ask..

Thale did not know what she’d said, because he couldn’t decipher her mangled, bizarre-sounding Low Gothic. He smiled anyway and shrugged. In most situations this worked pretty well for Thale.

Sandbagged and denied a proper answer, Shepard moved her attention onto Pak, hoping that maybe they might have more to say.

“Do they do this often?” She asked. Pak turned their cowled head in Shepard’s direction and the Commander got their first, proper look at the Magos’ face. She flinched.

“Holy crap, I thought I got it bad. You get spaced too?”

Pak remained silent. They did not know what the Commander was saying either, though they had a better idea than Thale had. They just didn’t really care what she had to say. Pak did, however, care a little more about the rather interesting device she’s used to conjure up the map and the equally-interesting signals they could detect passing from the ship itself to the equipment on her person. 

Signals linked somehow to that voice from above that had spoken not long ago. Intriguing stuff, Pak felt. Almost enough to justify the tedium of having to be on board the Assertive for its unedifying round-trip of largely explored planets in the first place. Assuming something of value came of this unexpected side excursion, of course.

But that could wait, Pak knew. All was as the Omnissiah willed.

And if it looked like it might not be all as the Omnissiah willed, well, that was why Pak was there.

Shepard sighed. So much for making conversation.

“This is going great,” she said, rubbing her face.

Not too far away, just down the length of the table, Jarrion was also struggling.

“At least it’s not another universe,” he said, trying to grasp something reassuring, as a drowning man might grasp wreckage.

“Well, we don’t know that for sure. Perhaps it’s the past in another universe?” Loghain suggested. Jarrion narrowed his eyes at her. 

“You really won’t let this go, will you?”

“I just don’t see the harm in being open to all possibilities,” she said, with every appearance of being reasonable. Which she wasn’t. She was verging towards the deranged, plainly.

“This is not a good possibility! This is a possibility that would see us entirely cut off! Not even cut off! Being cut off would imply that what you’re cut off from is somewhere else - what we’re cut off from doesn’t exist, assuming your ‘possibility’ is correct! The Imperium hasn’t even come into being yet!”

“The Imperium is eternal,” Loghain pointed out, to which Torian - only nominally present in the conversation at this point - nodded enthusiastically.

“It - “ Jarrion started, stopping to take a breath and calm his nerves. Now was not the time for a theological discussion or any other derailment. When he started again he sounded a lot more settled:

“I am as Emperor-fearing as the next man - more so, I’d go so far as to say, being a captain of a ship and so therefore directly responsible for countless thousands of His servants! - and while I thank Him for His guidance and protection with my every word and deed I am also painfully aware that neither of those things will fuel my ship, replace my crew or restock my provisions! I can’t serve the Emperor with a lifeless husk of a ship in a galaxy that doesn’t even have the Imperium in it!”

“Maybe you’re not trying hard enough,” Loghain said. Jarrion just gaped at her for a moment before finally noticing the difficulty she was having keeping a straight face.

“You - you - you’re having me on. Damn you, Loghain, this isn’t the time for that!”

“Just thought I’d lighten the mood.”

“Are you sure you’re an Inquisitor?” He asked, eyes narrowed.

She pulled out her rosette again and frowned down at it briefly.

“Fairly sure,” she said.

“You doing alright there?” Shepard asked and Jarrion jolted, wheeling around in his seat. He’d quite forgotten she was there at all. Very poor form, but things were a little bit unusual.

“Ah, yes. Apologies. We are rather - ah - rather more lost than we initially thought, is all. All in uproar! But we’ll figure something out, I’m sure. About the transfer of that data - “

Jarrion briefly twisted in his seat and had very short conversation with Pak. Or rather, spoke at Pak who nodded once or twice. Once whatever this accomplished was accomplished he turned to Shepard again and continued:

“I did notice rather a discrepancy in the systems of our ships? So I brought a dataslate. A rather more direct method of transfer if you could possibly put the information on it.”

Jarrion dug around inside his coat and pulled out said dataslate, laying it on the conference table and sliding it towards Shepard, who looked at it as though he’d just slid a raw cod across the table at her. This bewilderment Jarrion picked up on, and he got a touch sheepish.

“Or whatever methods works best for you? Pak is ready to assist, as I said,” he said, gesturing to Pak who did not move a muscle.

Shepard gave Pak a glance and then picked up the dataslate and turned it over in her hands, eyebrow raised. She had the look of someone handling something familiar enough to be distressingly unfamiliar. Once she’d confirmed that she wasn’t entirely sure how to make the thing work she looked back up to Jarrion again.

“We’ll work something out.”


	10. Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'll probably start to notice the events in ME2 coming across a little fuzzy in the details - this is because my copy has been sat in a box in a storage locker for two years or so at this point, and I ain't played it in a while. So this is probably going to be a bit of a 'broad strokes' kind of deal going in.
> 
> Though, really, none of this should be taken especially seriously anyway.
> 
> Also, speaking of fuzziness, when it's going to come to travel times and especially ME travel times versus 40K travel times, things are going to be EXTREMELY fuzzy. Because, uh, the Warp. And stuff. That and I'm not actually entirely sure how quick ships even go in ME. So I'm going to ballpark what I can and bullshit the rest and see what happens.
> 
> I looked at the wiki what more do you want.

I suppose it would be ironic me thinking someone else was crazy. Would that be irony?

Then again, bear in mind that this guy did come from a ship that by all accounts really shouldn’t exist. For one thing it looks, as said, like someone just chucked a piece of a cathedral into space. For another thing it’s fucking huge. Impractically huge. How-could-anyone-afford-to-build-something-like-this huge.

And what was the deal with this tablet thing?

And even more pressingly what’s the deal with all those skulls?

And I guess I’d be a bit out-of-sorts if I was lost. So maybe I’m being unkind.

Then again, those skulls though.

Top to bottom this definitely had to rank among one of my weirder days. Still, just another thing to roll with and at least I hadn’t had to kill anyone since waking up - a definite plus in my book. Giving some strange strangers directions is probably going to be one of the flat-out nicest things I can say I’ll have done for weeks now. 

Leaving them to sit and keep bickering in the conference room - they’d still been at it when the door had closed behind me - I cut through the lab to get back to the CIC, figuring there’d be a pretty good place to figure out how exactly I was meant to get this data to those guys.

PS: kind of a design oversight having the briefing room only reachable by walking through either the armoury or the lab. Or is that just me? I don’t design spaceships so maybe that’s a stupid thing to point out.

Anyway. Other things to worry about.

“EDI, was is this thing I’m holding?” I said, stepping up to the map and frowning down at the weird tablet thing again. This didn’t make it look any less confusing to me. It was close, right? Close to what I was familiar with, but different enough in enough different ways to just be confusing.

And it had more skulls on it, too.

“Unsure, Commander, it is unfamiliar to me and I am unable at this moment to interface with it in any way.”

That was new. I might have raised an eyebrow at that, had I not recently singed my eyebrows off.

“That’s a little unusual,” I said, turning the thing over. This also told me nothing, though I did note that the back had that same two-headed eagle symbol on the back that their shuttle had. At least they got consistent branding. “This symbol mean anything to you either?”

“It is similar to several groups I am aware of, but none with the resources necessary for a ship of the sort presently sharing our orbit, Commander, and none known to operate in this area, so they should likely be discounted.”

“Worth a shot. So when you say you can’t interface…?”

“The device lacks most of - correct, almost all of - the system architecture I am familiar with and designed to operate with. It is difficult to determine without some manner of connection, however, and I cannot establish one. A physical connection would do much to rectify this.”

Yeah, that sounded like a great idea.

“I am not plugging this random piece of whatever into you, EDI. Who knows where it’s been? Right, well, we’re going to have to figure out some way of getting this information to these guys. What’s the simplest way, you reckon? Do we have a printer on this ship?”

“No, Commander.”

I had been joking, obviously, but still. One fewer options. I scratched my chin, wincing when I caught one of the bigger scars. Kind of hoped they would have healed by now. Oh well, at least I have character.

“Probably for the best,” I said, leaning over the console and just staring at the big swirl of the galaxy for answers to this very dull, technical question. Answers came there none. “This’d be so much easier if I could transfer files direct. Didn’t ask about that. I should probably go back and ask if that’d work.”

“The issues encountered during communication suggest a level of incompatibility between our vessels that would make a direct transfer difficult, if not immediately impossible.”

That was a real long way of telling me not to bother. I ground my teeth. Incompatibility!

“However many years I spent in that navy and then all that time I spent pootling round the galaxy righting wrongs and landing on planets to just drive around in circles and I never once ran into compatibility issues. Not once! Most things you could just slather omnigel on and they’d work or just wave your hand and everything works out. And then these guys! I like variety but this is just unhelpful. Fuck, I don’t know, let’s just put it on magnetic tape or something. That’d be-”

My rant was interrupted because, while I was in the midst of it, I wheeled around and just-so happened to spot my elite crew of assorted, pan-galactic badasses all clustered around one of the CIC’s stations looking as though they’d been collectively caught with their hand in some sort of very wide-necked cookie jar.

“Hi guys,” I said, warily, eyes flicking between them in the hopes that some sort of clue might leap out at me. Nothing did, at least not until I looked at the screen they were stood around, which was showing a ceiling-mounted view of the briefing room. I could just about see our guests still arguing. And so, by connection, they’d all seen it too.

Seriously, guys?

“There a team meeting I missed?” I asked, stepping down from the map and wandering over, casual-like.

They were all stood frozen in the way that people who really hoped that you wouldn’t turn around and notice them tend to stand frozen. But I had turned around, and I had noticed. Stopping in front of them I went for the ‘serious’ arm fold as a starting move.

“Take it you were all watching that?” I asked. I aimed to sound unimpressed but honestly the brass of them snooping in like that in a big group barely twenty feet from the actual room was pretty admirable. Knew there was a reason this was my super-group.

There seemed to be some silent disagreement among them about which one of them would have to speak first and so be the first to stick their head above the parapet, as it were. Garrus, being a solid motherfucker, stepped into the breach.

Solid as a rock that guy.

“I was calibrating something and suddenly the feed came on screen. Unlikely as that sounds,” he said, gesturing over his shoulder to the station - which was still showing the feed from the room! 

This security needs beefing up. Much like Garrus’s excuses.

“Ah yes, the ‘the magazine fell open on that page and I don’t know why’ excuse. And these guys?” I asked, inclining my head to the rest of them. Much more effective than pointing. It has a certain subtlety, the head incline. 

“They were helping me fix it,” he said. The others all nodded. 

“Sure, let’s go with that. Come to any conclusions while trying to fix it?”

Everyone looked at everyone else, trying to work out whether this was some sort of trap I was preparing to spring and whether speaking up would lead to me yelling at them. This was weighed against their obvious desire to give their observations to me, their wonderful Commander.

Jacob cracked first.

“Commander, are you buying any of this about them being lost?” He asked. Which gave me pause.

“You get that?”

“EDI was translating,” he said, as though this wasn’t a big deal. There I was having to grapple with someone obviously still coming to terms with the lingo and there was everyone eavesdropping and having the hard work done for them!

“She was? She wasn’t for me!” I groused.

“You did not appear to require assistance,” EDI chipped in. I direct my angry expression upwards, because how else do you talk to a spaceship.

“Your faith in me buoys my heart. Sidebar EDI: did you notice them hacking into the feed like that?”

“I logged the attempt.”

“Well, at least you were paying attention. You manage to translate that, uh, whatever they were speaking when they were talking amongst themselves?” I asked, semi-hopeful.

“I have not yet been able to translate the language they are using to conspire, Commander, but I have developed something workable around what appears to be their primary dialect. Uploaded to your omnitool now.”

Better late than never.

“Conspiring is a very strong word, EDI,” I said with a frown. 

“It was conjecture on my part, Commander. I am sixty-five percent sure that they were conspiring.”

Pretty good odds, by most anyone’s standards.

“What margin of error should I allow for AI paranoia?”

“Perhaps thirty percent, Commander.”

“That’s pretty high.”

“It pays for an AI to be open to be conscious of possible risks.”

“I bet,” I said, only then remembering that I was still standing there in front of the lot of them and that Jacob had actually asked me a question. I shook my head and heaved back on topic. “Right, yes. Uh, I do believe them, yes, because of the sheer amount of stuff about them that just doesn’t add up. I mean, everything about them is just...well, like nothing I’ve seen. Unless I missed something in the last two years?”

There was a general shaking of heads.

Jacob had a follow up:

“Do you think we can trust them?”

“No idea. You saw how that talk went. Seems like they’re pulling in different directions, doesn’t it? That Jarrion guy seems nice enough and since he’s in charge I think that’s a positive sign. And, hey, they didn’t blow us to bits. That’s a good start, right?”

“He say anything about that ship?” Garrus asked.

By this point everyone on-board had seen the space-cathedral. How could anyone have resisted? 

“It’s called the Assertive. Came from a wreck, he says. From a navy, he says. Not any navy I’d ever heard of - the Imperium I think he said? News to me. Oh, and get this: that thing? Our man says that’s a light cruiser.”

Collective disbelief.

“That can’t be right, that must be a mistranslation,” Garrus said, mandibles flickering. I could hardly blame him his doubt. Light cruiser indeed. I’d hate to see one of their dreadnoughts. Probably be the size of a fucking moon.

“That’s what he said. Ridiculous, right? Thing’s bigger than the Destiny Ascension and it’s a light cruiser. Hell, it’s bigger than that Collector ship that, you know, killed me.” 

Probably shouldn’t have mentioned that. Kind of put a damper on things. I noticed the mood take a dip.

“Whatever. Look, I’d love to stand and shoot the shit with you guys but I’m meant to be giving them some data, actually. Hey EDI did we ever conclude how we were going to do that?”

“We did not, Commander.”

“Christ, do we have any spare tablets of our own we can palm off to them? Put the data on that then hand it over? Then it’s their problem.”

This was me just tossing ideas out there. I’ll be the first to admit that my skillset is mainly based around shooting things and more generalised mediation - technical details are not my strong point. Unless it involves omnigel, obviously, but that barely needs mentioning. That stuff’s great, just slather it on.

“I will have Yeoman Chambers do that, Commander,” EDI said.

Long walk round the houses for a real simple fucking solution. Probably should have just asked Kelly in the first place. She’s a helpful soul.

“Success at last! I’m sure they can figure it out. Then they can be off and I can launch a few more probes - still think we got a handful of them just itching to go and I’m real close to some of those projects you got listed in the lab, Mordin. Who’s got two thumbs and wants sub-dermal armour? This lady, that’s who,” I said, giving the standard dual thumbs up to the bafflement of all aliens present.

Honestly though being a cyborg was pretty great. I guess I’m more cyborg than most and personally cost more than most spaceships so maybe I’m biased, but still. It’s pretty great.

“Commander, the Illusive Man would like to speak with you,” EDI said.

This was so out of nowhere I actually thought I’d maybe imagined it. No such luck though. I jerked a - raised from mere seconds ago - thumb over my shoulder to where the conference roughly was.

“What, right now? I’d have to take the call back there! In the conference room! That’s where I left the guests! Ugh, nothing is ever easy.”

Seriously. If life isn’t big catastrophes it’s minor inconveniences, if it’s not one thing it’s another bloody thing. 

“He says it’s time-sensitive,” EDI said.

I groaned, rubbed my temples, felt the teeny-tiny bumps of some of the screws there that were holding my skull together. Ye Gods but that’s disconcerting. Okay maybe being a cyborg isn’t all sunshine and rainbows when you really think about what’s involved. 

“I bet he fucking does,” I grumbled. Not that is made the problem go away. “Fine, fine. I’ll just have to tell them to clear out a minute, talk to ‘IM Who Must Be Obeyed. We can put this whole thing behind us. Launch some probes. Get back on to doing our depressing job of rounding up bodies for a meat grinder the other end of a relay in the middle of buttfuck who-knows-where.”

Putting one hand to my hip I wagged a finger at my super-group.

“Right, you lot. Back to work. I’m sure you’ve all got things you could be doing.”

A mildly ashamed chorus of assent and they all sloped off. I stopped Jacob as he passed.

“I’m going to ask them to wait in the hanger in a sec - would you mind walking them down?”

“Sure thing Commander,” he said.

I rather liked Jacob, honestly. He seemed like a solid fellow. 

And, right at that moment, the practical choice. I’d seen that guns only came up when our guests saw aliens. Figure that one out.

Also while I’m on the subject hadn’t I seen the older guy - Torian, I think that was his name? - pull out a revolver? Where the hell did he dig up one of those? Or was it just a novelty weapon made to look like a revolver? And if so, who the hell would do that?

These guests really were something else, but in some way I really couldn’t put my finger on.

While everyone else returned to whatever it was they had been doing before spying on me I moved back to the conference room via the armoury, Jacob following behind. He waited just outside while I entered. It seemed that in my absence they’d finally finished arguing, and were now sitting in somewhat sullen silence. 

On my entrance, that same very-clearly-practised smile came immediately back onto Jarrion’s face.

“Commander! Was starting to worry you’d forgotten about us.”

“Sorry, technical issues.And sorry again but the chap who’s bankrolling this particular venture wants a word with me and I can only take it in this room. I’ll have the data you need ready shortly and have it brought to you if don’t mind waiting in your shuttle?”

Jarrion waved a hand like this wasn’t a big deal, while his cronies just kept staring at me the way they tended to. Except the lady with the blindfold, for obvious reasons, though the way she just sort of looked in my direction did kind of make me uncomfortable.

Always with the smirking.

“By all means,” said Jarrion with a little bowing bob of the head.

“Thank you. Here’s your, uh, here’s your this. We sorted something else out,” I said, handing back the tablet he’d given me which he took with only mild surprise, which quickly passed as he tucked it back into that nice jacket of his.

I should get me one of those.

“We do appreciate this, Commander. It would be my pleasure to return the favour as and when you require it,” said Jarrion, standing, followed shortly by the others. All smooth this one. I just shrugged.

“It’s alright. Was hardly going to hang you out to dry. I have a crewman outside who can escort you to the hanger.”

Jarrion hesitated, smile flickering.

“Is it, ah, are they-”

“They’re human,” I said, flatly, and he visibly relaxed.

“Ah. Good. Thank you.”

He made no further comment or explanation on this, and I was profoundly grateful. The less said about that sort of the thing the better, really. Always a little distracting knowing that the guy smiling at you and being friendly and altogether actually alright is also, you know, a xenophobe.

Such is life.

At anyrate, Jarrion and his lot cleared out after this, Jacob taking them back down while I picked a chair and dragged it back away from the table.

“Alright, put him through,” I said and no sooner had the words passed my lips then the lights dimmed and the table sank into the floor. Very swish, all this.

And then came the hologram. The Illusive Man - and, again, can we pause and appreciate how pretentious that name is - was sitting too, but that was pretty normal.

“Shepard,” he said before pausing, glancing around. How much he could see doing this was unclear, but I’m guessing he could see enough to notice that I’d added furniture. “You’ve put chairs in this room.”

“Yeah, I did.”

He looked at me quietly a moment.

“If this is some attempt to rattle-”

“No, no, nothing like that. I just didn’t like having to stand when I was explaining things to people. To what do I owe this pleasure, anyway? Got something for me?” I asked.

“Don’t interrupt me, Shepard.”

“Sorry. Communications lag,” I said.

“It’s - “ he said, before realising that continuing to rise to my bait would be pointless. Instead he just took a drag, stubbed out the dog end he’d been finishing off before fishing out and lighting a fresh one. “Some information has reached me that I feel may be of some use to you. We’ve had forewarning of a Collector attack on a colony.”

That one actually got me.

“Forewarning? How’d you manage that?”

“Now is not the time to explain the methods involved. That there is time for you to reach the colony in question and prevent the attack from happening is what you should be focusing on. Has Mordin Solus’ work on the countermeasure born fruit?”

“He seemed to be doing pretty good last time I checked.”

“Well I hope whatever final touches he needs to make can be done on the way. Time is of the essence for this mission, Shepard - we may not get another chance like this.”

As much as I disliked the guy - and I did - he wasn’t wrong. Being on the backfoot with the Collectors had really been starting to get under my skin, and the chance of being able to catch them with their pants down was electrifying.

Or, even better, being there when they arrived!

Actually, that might end badly for us. Probably best to arrive midway through, catch them by surprise. In which case we’d still need to leave sharpish.

“Alright. Where is it?”

“Horizon, Iera, Shadow Sea. The relevant details have already been forwarded.”

I did a quick mental run-through of where that might be and how to get there. About two jumps, maybe? Pretty long jumps agreeably if memory served, but basically just a hop, skip and a, well, jump.

“Alright. Alright alright alright. I’ll see what I can do. Anything else?” I asked.

“While you’re here, I’ve also received word that you’ve encountered an unusual vessel,” he said, recrossing his legs and brushing ash off his sleeve. So casual. 

Jesus, someone onboard works fast. I’m not even going to bother acting surprised - my general stance with the Illusive Man is that, unless it’s happening in my head, he’s probably going to find out about it somehow. Guys like that always do.

Really going to enjoy pulling the rug out from under him at some point.

“Nothing gets past you, eh? What of it? You know something about them we don’t?”

Puffing he shook his head, stubbing out again and this time just lacing his fingers in front of him, arms resting by his sides.

“I can’t say I do, which is unusual. Were this not such a critical moment I would ask you to keep an eye on them. For now, I just wanted your impressions.”

“Of them? Uh, I only just met the guys. They’re lost,” I said. I wasn’t sure what else he wanted me to say.

“So I heard. Human though.”

“Well yes I did notice that.”

He sighed, as though I was somehow a disappointment.

“Perhaps it can be further investigated once the Collector matter has been concluded. For now, I suggest you head to Horizon,” he said, waving a hand at me. Dismissing me, clearly. Charming stuff.

“Aye aye, skip. I’ll send you a postcard,” I said.

I cut the link before I could get his response. The lights came back up, the table returned, and I took a moment to gather myself.

Probably should try to be more professional but, hey, I died that one time and there’s fleets of deep-voiced deathships closing in on the galaxy to murder everyone and no-one in charge wants to listen to me about it. I think I earned the right to be a little grouchy and short with people. Especially pricks who sit and smoke and stare at a sun all the time.

But still. Stuff to do. Colony to save, aliens to shoot.

Navigational data to hand over.

I was about halfway through standing up again when I thought that last part, and I paused.

An idea had popped into my head.

It was a very dumb idea, obviously. I could point out the holes and gaps in it from a mile away, but still the idea persisted. It just sat there, the gravity of it dragging in all my attention. I wasn’t even sure why. I couldn’t shake it!

Jarrion had said he owed me a favour, and he was just downstairs...

And his massive ship with all those guns was just outside...


	11. Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is anything ever going to actually happen?!
> 
> Well, yes. At Horizon. When they get there.
> 
> Until then MORE DIALOGUE! I hope you like PEOPLE TALKING!
> 
> I know I do. It's why it keeps happening!

Meanwhile, in the lighter still sitting in the Normandy’s hanger, a discussion was taking place.

“We should blow up their ship,” Torian said. Jarrion massaged his temples some more. By this point they were starting to get a little tender.

“We’re not blowing up their ship, Torian.”

“They cavort with aliens, my Lord! They have them here with them! On their ship! Just walking around! They had weapons! They allowed them to carry weapons!”

“Please, Torian. Cavort is such a strong word,” Jarrion said.

“What word would you use?” Loghain asked, her tone one of perfectly judged, insulting politeness. The kind that hopes to trip you up or, failing that, just get under your skin. 

Jarrion wondered if this was something they taught Inquisitors specifically and gave Loghain a withering look. He also wondered if she was even aware of him doing this. Judging by her smirk she probably was, somehow. 

Psykers. Wankers.

“Cooperate. They cooperate with aliens,” he said, by way of answer to her question. Loghain raised her eyebrows above the blindfold.

“That’s not a strong word in this case?”

“Well add ‘misguided’ as another word in here,” Jarrion said, throwing his hands up in despair. “Look, we can talk all we like but we have to face facts. Whether or not we believe the Commander about the date or the disposition of the galaxy in general - and I don’t care what you ‘gifts’ told you I remain unsold on this whole thing - we are still becalmed and cut off from the Astronomicon. There are explanations for this but I cannot conceive of any good ones.”

One such explanation, for example, being that they’d somehow ended up in the Halo Stars which, having looked outside, even Jarrion could tell was not the case. Which left any other number of equally unlikely explanations, all of them more-or-less the same level of unhelpful.

He paused here on the off-chance that someone else might have had a suggestion to turn the whole situation on its head and make everything clear. No-one did, obviously.

He sighed and rubbed his face.

“Not that it matters anyway. The how and the why and the what are entirely irrelevant. We can only work with what is in front of us. Speculation is not going to fix anything. We are here, and this is what we have. Once we have the astronavigation data we can formulate something a little more concrete,” he said.

“Assuming it’s trustworthy, my Lord,” Torian said, wincing as Jarrion rounded on him.

“Thor’s wounds it’s just one thing after another with you people! Let’s assume it is! And if it isn’t we still have other options! We’ll have the choir see if they can intercept any astropathic traffic! We’ll have our own astronavigators do a proper survey of the stars as opposed to their rough-and-ready first impressions! Emperor have mercy but I am so very, very tired.”

“Did I come at a bad time?” Shepard asked, making Jarrion jump. She was standing just by the open ramp of the lighter, dataslate and a thinner device in hand, looking into the crew compartment. Jarrion rose on seeing her.

“Hmm? No, no, apologies, just another productive discussion with my crew. Something I can help you with?” He asked.

Shepard thrust the dataslate and the something else towards Jarrion, who took both. The dataslate did not appear to have even been switched on, while the something else turned out to be a very similar though obviously native-made device. Jarrion turned it over in his hands.

“Um, thank you? What is this?”

“We put the navigation data on that. Full galaxy map, relays marked, political boundaries, whatever. Should help you get to where you need to go,” Shepard said.

“Ah, yes, thank you.”

“Do you mind if I have a word with you? Just over here?” Shepard then asked, pointing behind her. Jarrion nodded, and the two of them moved off back across the hanger, away from prying ears. Shepard lent against a generic workbench and folded her arms.

“Can I ask you a very direct question?” She asked. Jarrion, slipping again into his smiling-pleasantly mode, nodded again. He was very good at nodding.

“By all means,” he said.

“What’s the deal here? There’s something big and obvious that’s sticking out pretty badly to you but is going right over my head and I’m feeling a bit left out, so what is it?”

Jarrion cast an eye back towards the lighter, but this was of very little help to him.

“You, heh, you’re probably not going to believe me when we say this but we’re not from around here.”

“No, I figured that part out, I’m just curious about how not from around here you are.”

Now came the harder part. Decision time. Now or never and no going back.

What was there to lose?

And, really, what reason was there not to be fully open and honest? Other than sounding like a lunatic, of course. But then who cared if some provincial in a tiny ship thought you were mad?

Best to bite the bullet, Jarrion felt.

“That’s the bit you may have difficulty believing,” Jarrion said, his smile straining. He swallowed. “We, ah, well, our current best guess and working theory seems to be that we are from the future.”

A split-second for Shepard to process this. Not an answer she’d been expecting.

“The future?”

Jarrion could only shrug.

“Unbelievable as it may sound unfortunately but yes, the future. The, ah, forty-first millenium, in fact. As I say this is just our best guess at present. It may likely turn out to be completely wrong! Hope springs eternal, as they, uh, say.”

Shepard blinked at Jarrion very, very slowly while she did some maths in her head.

“Right,” she said. “So nearly thirty-eight thousand years in the future, then?”

“Roughly speaking. If certain things are taken as read.”

Silence.

“The future a nice place?”

“Oh, wonderful! There are a few problems here and there, of course, but broadly speaking mankind is ascendent! The God Emperor rules justly and wiseful from the Golden Throne through His High Lords, honest citizens of the Imperium outnumber the stars themselves, heretics and aliens alike are being pushed back on all fronts and mankind reaches out once more to claim that which is its right!”

Jarrion didn’t fully believe all of this, but it was what felt like should be true and why be anything less than fully enthusiastic when talking about the Imperium to a stranger? That, and Loghain was standing barely twenty feet away. He had no reason to be nervous, but he had no reason to be careless either.

He had the distinct impression the Inquisitor was trying not to laugh at him behind his back.

Shepard was looking at Jarrion with an expression which was impossible to read.

“So,” she said. “You’re telling me that you and your vessel are from the future. Just about forty thousand years into the future, rounding up. A future where mankind has some kind of galaxy-spanning empire overseen by a god-emperor and that you - through some crazy random happenstance - have ended up here?”

Given what Jarrion had said Shepard had done a fairly good job of quickly grasping the details. There’d been blanks but she’d filled them in, mostly just by guessing blindly. She had a good instinct for these things.

Jarrion, faced with the summation, could do little but smile helplessly.

“So it would appear,” he said.

He felt it best to leave out the additional Loghain-forwarded opinion that they were from an entirely separate universe on top of also being from the future. He felt that that would be over egging the pudding. A bridge crossed when they came to it. Which would hopefully be never because hopefully it was all cobblers and they could go home soon anyway.

Shepard was having her own issues with the direction this conversation had taken.

Why couldn’t she ever have a quiet, normal day? Why was it either someone trying to kill her or some other problem that required her to shoot it a bit or hack something? Why couldn’t she just have a lie in?

The future? Seriously?

Stranger things had happened, this was true, but even Shepard had limits. Time travel? Arbitrary time travel? And then just running into them out here in the middle of nowhere? An Emperor? Golden Throne? High Lords? Proper Nouns? 

No, Shepard had limits.

“She doesn’t believe you,” Loghain said, having left the lighter and silently crossed over to pop up right beside Jarrion with neither he nor Shepard having noticed her doing it. Given that this had involved crossing open space in full view it was a little alarming. Psyker trickery, no doubt. Jarrion scowled. Very poor form.

“Of course she doesn’t believe me! I barely believe me!” He snapped back through gritted teeth.

“I could convince her,” said Loghain.

“You know, a simple sentence like that becomes a lot more daunting when someone like you says it, Loghain. How would you go about convincing her?”

“I’m standing right here,” Shepard said, flatly.

Loghain hadn’t been speaking High Gothic but hadn’t bothered to adjust her dialect to make herself more easily understood by Shepard. That she’d been understood at all was a mild surprise, but one Loghain rolled with. As far as the sort of surprises Inquisitors sometimes dealt with went, finding your communication issues smoothing out was probably one of the nicer ones.

“I can assure you the Lord Captain is telling the truth. Though I doubt that’d mean much coming from me,” she said.

“No, funnily enough.”

Loghain appraised Shepard a moment and Shepard had a shiver run right down her spine. She could have sworn the temperature in the hanger just dropped out of nowhere. Loghain then turned to Jarrion.

“She think you’re hiding something from her. Which is rather amusing, given that you’ve made the decision to be more open than perhaps you should.”

For a blind person - Shepard assumed she was blind, given the cloth wrapped around her eyes - Loghain was really, really good at looking people directly in the face when they were speaking. Like, she wasn’t close, she was dead on every single time. 

There was probably a good reason for that, Shepard assumed.

Jarrion, on having heard this, threw up his arms.

“What would you have me do? Or are you just going to stand there and needle me whichever way I go?”

“No offense, but me and the captain here were having a private conversation,” Shepard said, deciding to crash through whatever disagreement was about to bubble up and try to get things back on track. Loghain snapped that blank, blindfolded gaze right onto Shepard.

“My apologies. I just thought - given the apparent topic of conversation - you might appreciate some ambassadorial input,” Loghain said.

“Maybe later,” Shepard said.

“Yes, please return to your seat if you’d be so kind, ambassador,” Jarrion said with heavy emphasis. Loghain gave a curtsey, which was a very, very odd thing to see her do. Jarrion felt distinctly uncomfortable for having had to see it.

“As you say, Lord Commander,” she said before wandering back.

“She’s not an ambassador, is she?” Shepard asked once she was semi-confident that Loghain was out of earshot, sat back in her seat. Jarrion said.

“No, no she’s not. She’s an, ah, agent for an organisation with a certain level of oversight. Ironically that oversight does not extend over myself, technically, at least while I am outside of Imperial jurisdiction, which is where I am now standing. And yet see how she acts! Is that irony?” He asked. Shepard shrugged.

“Irony was never my strong point.”

“Nor mine. But I believe you wanted to discuss something?”

Shepard looked at him hard a moment or two before looking away again, glancing briefly to the lighter and then back to Jarrion again. They all still looked like nothing she’d seen.

“I’m still skeptical,” she said. “But there are a few things here I’ll admit that don’t add up so I’m going to assume - well, nothing, to be honest. I don’t mean to sound rude but I really don’t buy the time travel angle so I’ll just put that to one side.”

“Fair enough. It’s what I’d do,” said Jarrion. Shepard nodded thanks for his understanding and then took in a deep breath.

“I’m going to level with you, Jarrion. Just going to lay it out. Two years ago I got killed by what are commonly called Collectors. Odd guys. Come through one relay every so often, trade advanced tech for members of other races. And they killed me. I got better though, but by the time I did it turns out that the Collectors have started attacking colonies. Human colonies. Coming in and just sweeping everyone up, taking them away. And because these colonies are out beyond anyone’s jurisdiction nothing’s being done about it. So the guys who fixed me up - the outside agency I mentioned? - they don’t like this, so they set me up to do something about it. Are you following this?”

“I believe so. You’re being employed to stop attacks on human colonies?”

This was something Jarrion could understand. 

Shepard waited for him to maybe call attention to the fact she’d mentioned being dead and then coming back but he took this wholly in his stride. Jarrion had a cousin who’d been dead, briefly. An Ork freebooter had sliced them in half at the waist and - clinically speaking - they’d been dead for a good ten or so minutes before the spark of life had been restored to them by the swift attentions of attending medicae. Luckily, too, Magos Biologis had been close at hand, and quite willing to help once persuaded.

It had taken the better part of a year to put Jarrion’s cousin back together again properly. The spine was bionic but everything else had been vat-grown at great expense. Now they were back on their feet and almost as good as new, even if their tendency to stare into space every so often and pause in the middle of conversations was a little disconcerting at times.

As far as Jarrion was concerned, these things happened. Shepard shrugged and carried on:

“Basically, yes. There’s details involved about the endgame of the mission but those can wait. Bottom line is Collectors need stopping and I’m the only one doing anything about it.”

“Aliens are a foul and perfidious lot,” Jarrion said by way of sympathy. Shepard blinked at him a moment.

“Uh, yeah. Now look, I know we just met and everything but I got a hot tip just now about an attack that I might be able to prevent and I was thinking that I might have a better chance at putting that ship of theirs down if you came along.”

This was a surprise.

“You’re asking for my help?” Jarrion asked. This was not the way Shepard would have put it, personally, even if in essence it was the case.

“I haven’t got where I am today by passing up what look to be good opportunities. Whyever you’re here, you’re here, you’re human, you have an imposing ship.”

Such flattery!

“All of these things are true,” Jarrion admitted.

“You’re also in need of help - hear me out,” she cut Jarrion off before he could protest that he was on top of things. “You’re clearly a little lost. And I don’t just mean in space. You’re coming across like a guy who had the rug pulled out from under him. I don’t want to tell you what to do, but I do have something you could be doing, and it is something that’d help people out.” 

“And what could be nobler than that…” Jarrion said, more to himself than to her, stroking his chin and staring just over her shoulder at some point in the far distance.

Jarrion was thinking.

He was, he felt, very rapidly approaching a fork in the road, a point at which he would need to make a decision that would very seriously affect things going forward.

Broadly speaking he had, as he saw it, two choices in his current predicament. Two choices about how best to proceed.

The first was to start throwing his weight around. It was the obvious and direct choice. 

Certainly, it was what his father and brother would have done. They’d already be doing it, mostly likely. They would have fired a warning shot or two either at or across the bow of the Normandy, seized the ship by force, taken what they felt they needed and carried on from there.

Which was understandable, but Jarrion was reluctant to do this for several reasons.

For one, his father and his brother both had much bigger ships than he did, and much more men with many more guns. They also never went anywhere without escorts. They also were not lost in space (and quite possibly time as well) - they could put into port in any of House Croesus’ holdings or anywhere in Imperial space to stock up on provisions, replenish lost manpower and have repairs done as needed. 

The sort of things you had to be able to do to be able to keep throwing your weight around with any real expectation of effect.

Jarrion could not. Anything that happened would wear him out and slow him down. His mistakes would cost him. Even his success would lose him momentum. This he was painfully aware of.

The Normandy was a trifling little ship, yes, but what if this Systems Alliance had bigger ones? The way Shepard spoke it didn’t seem unlikely. And what of the Council? And the various other threats that had been mentioned? These Collectors, for one demonstrably hostile example? 

Surmountable individually, to be sure, but one after another?

Jarrion was not particularly prepared to go up against the whole galaxy on his own. You could very-well serve the Emperor by dying, yes, this was known, but far better to live for his glory and come out with something to show for it, in his opinion, being a Rogue Trader and all. 

Dying was something other people did, usually for him, not something he did himself.

So Jarrion was thinking, thanking the Emperor again that he alone appeared to be the only member of House Croesus that hadn’t had tact bred out of him.

“These colonies you mentioned. They exist beyond the reach and protection of your System Alliance?” He asked.

“Yes.”

“And aid for them is unforthcoming other than from this outside agency you aren’t especially fond of?”

“They’re being left to twist in the wind, yes.”

“Hmm.”

An idea was forming in Jarrion’s head, much as one had formed in Shepard’s. His was running along different lines, though, at least in the long run.

“I think,” he said. “I think we can come to arrangement. Certainly, I see no reason not to assist you. I will have to discuss it with my crew, of course. When is this attack you’ve been forewarned about set to occur?”

“‘Soon’, basically. We’ll likely be heading off for the relay in an hour or two. Got to make tracks.”

Jarrion did not know what a relay was, but doubted it was especially important. He was already putting together plans in his head, and details like that could wait.

“Right, right. And, uh, where is it?”

“Place called Horizon. I’ve never heard of it. Hang on, I’ll just mark it for you.”

Shepard took back the tablet and messed with it briefly before handing it back. What she’d done was unclear, but Jarrion trusted that they’d find out what was what soon enough once he let Pak get their hands - or whatever - on the thing. 

“Many thanks. Horizon, eh?” Jarrion asked.

“Yeah. Some colony. Hopefully we’ll get there in time, blow some holes in the Collector ship, save everyone, pick through the wreckage to find out how the Collectors get to and from wherever they’re from, follow them back and make sure they don’t keep making a habit of this. But that’s in the future. For now, one thing at a time.”

Shepard had this whole flowchart of things she needed to do stuck in her head and it was difficult to focus on the smaller picture with the bigger one looming so large in her mind. Jarrion could see that she had this problem, because he had it too.

“Quite so. I shall discuss with my crew and get back to you presently.”

“I’ll be waiting by the phone,” Shepard said.

“Ah, yes,” said Jarrion, again not having a clue what this meant, instead just smiling and nodding thanks as he turned and walked smartly back to the lighter.

“Pak, see what you make of this,” he said, handing the tablet over immediately to the Magos. A mechadendrite slithered out from one of Pak’s sleeves and took the thing lightly as someone might pick up a sodden tissue between forefinger and thumb. The tip of the mechadendrite split into further, thinner tendrils that then began probing the device looking for the best method to interface with it.

Jarrion, though, wasn’t watching this. He was grinning at everyone instead, his hands on his hips. This made them all immediately quite nervous.

“My Lord?” Torian asked, having seen this look before.

“I have a plan,” Jarrion said.


	12. Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this making sense to you?
> 
> A long bit, because I didn't want too many bits before Horizon. So there's this, some preperation, then Horizon. Why did I care? I don't know. I'm a whimsical guy.
> 
> Also, forever grappling with "Well I want this to happen but the rules say otherwise only those rules would be all bent out of shape in the ME universe so I don't even know". The punchline being that 40K is basically just "We want to do cool shit and reference some other sci-fi so let's try and make it all work who cares, really?"
> 
> Or at least it used to be...I'm still stuck in 3rd edition, me.

Upon returning to the Assertive Jarrion set Pak immediately onto divining how the device they’d been given worked. Indeed, Pak had already started doing this before the lighter had even left the Normandy, questing tendrils attempting to find any kind of recognizable port to connect with or, failing that, forcing one.

Pak found the device unusual and flimsy, its machine spirit feeble and anemic but at least present. It was not especially complicated. By the standards of some of the lost, forgotten, obsolete or just plain broken colonial technology they’d had to deal with already it was positively straightforward, which was at least a refreshing change, if uninspiring. 

Once they arrived back on-board Pak managed to rig up - with remarkable alacrity for a Tech Priest, in Jarrion’s opinion - a cogitator in one of Jarrion’s chambers to act as an intermediary device for the Lord Captain to use to examine the thing’s contents. Shortly after that the relevant astronavigational data was found, extracted, and passed along to Altrx and those others working in astronavigation, to get them all better orientated.

Jarrion, though, kept at it, furiously studying the device and the information it contained. 

Shepard had, it seemed, included not only a galactic map as she’d said she would, but also a codex of some kind, containing information on just about anything Jarrion might have been curious to learn about. Rather too much, in fact. He restricted himself to the essentials and swiftly devoured all details available. He learnt a lot, though he didn’t fully believe more than half of it.

A lot of his initial hopes - that they were lost in some corner of the galaxy that knew little beyond itself and that only by moving a little further they’d quickly find themselves back in the Imperium proper - were dashed immediately. 

Shepard’s galaxy was an explored one, end to end and top to bottom. Or at least enough to make it clear that the possibility they were simply tucked away somewhere was flatly impossible. And it only got worse.

From what Jarrion could make out not a single Ork had ever been encountered. Anywhere, at any point. There were mentions of dozens or more other alien races that Jarrion hadn’t heard of, but that didn’t meant much - it was the absences of the ones he was familiar with that spoke volumes. No Orks? No Orks?!

That tore it, that really did.

He rather hoped at first that this was just a language issue. The written form of whatever language Shepard used wasn’t wholly unfamiliar to Jarrion, but there were enough issues here or there that he might have been able to believe he was simply missing the obvious. And he might have believed this, had he not been employing his trusty lexigraphical servo-skull, which rendered these difficulties trivial.

It was not a language issue. What he was reading was pretty emphatic in the picture it painted.

This was not the galaxy he was supposed to be in. At all. Even allowing for the mysterious mists of time it was not their galaxy. Another time, another galaxy! Ridiculous. Hopefully still untrue somehow. But for now, it was what Jarrion had to deal with.

But this was fine. He could work with this. His plan could accommodate this. 

That Loghain might have been right was probably the worst part. He could almost imagine the look on her face already.

Once he felt he had grappled sufficiently with the available information he summoned the higher level members of his crew for another meeting, so he could explain to them what he’d learnt and also outline what the next steps were going to be. While waiting for the room to fill he had Pak rig the flimsy tablet up to the meeting room’s hololithc projector. 

Explaining things always worked best with visual aids.

Navigator Altrx was the last to arrive, so absorbed had he been in the data he’d been supplied with, but once he’d shown up and got seated and the doors shut behind him then Jarrion felt he could begin. He rose, and the muted conversation that had halfway filled the room died out.

“There have been some developments, as I’m sure you’re all aware of,” Jarrion said without preamble. “A lot of what I am about to tell you will likely sound rather confusing but do try to keep your questions until the end - this is me simply relaying what I have learnt to the best of my ability.”

He looked around to see if anyone had any obvious difficult understanding this. Everyone seemed to be listening intently enough, which was a good start. Jarrion cleared his throat. 

“And until I am standing on Holy Terra herself looking with my own eyes at the Imperial Palace - or something less extreme but equally convincing - we are going to be working as though this information is accurate, otherwise we won’t be getting anything done.”

He hadn’t expected a laugh. Would have been appreciated, yes, but he hadn’t expected one. And he did not get one. He cleared his throat again, a little more uncomfortably this time. Given what he knew he was about to say, he felt he had the right to feel uncomfortable.

“Here are the facts at least as they appear at present: The year is twenty-one fifty-eight. That is to say, M3. No, no, no questions, please, these are the facts as they stand. As far as we know right now it is M3. The galaxy is not as we know it. A lot of what we might take for granted is apparently not the case.”

Lay one hand knuckles-down on the table he ran the other back through his hair before holding it out in front of him so he could count off the salient facts on his fingers.

“No mention of the Imperium. No mention of the Emperor. No mention of the Archenemy. No mention of the Warp! Apparently all space travel is undertaken using point-to-point ‘relays’ that were just left behind by some now-extinct species! And then a lesser form of faster-than-light is undertaken once they’ve arrived! Can you imagine? Anyway, where was I? Ah yes. No mention of Orks, Eldar, Hrud, Slaugth, Zoats - none of the species we are unfortunately familiar with. And you might think - as I did at first - that perhaps our new associates were simply a combination of small enough and lucky enough to have avoided the attention of these aliens, but no! This is information from the length and breadth of the galaxy! Not a single Ork! No Eldar now, nor ever! This is not our galaxy. This is foreign territory indeed. Which brings me onto my next and main point - Pak, if you would.”

He gestured to Pak, who had already interfaced themselves with the hololithic projector mounted into the meeting room table. There was a clunk and a quiet blurt of chatter from the Magos and then a rising hum as the projector started into life. The middle portion of the table unfurled, the projecting apparatus extended, and a map fo the galaxy as extracted from Shepard’s tablet was duly shown to all present, much as it had been on the Normandy.

Only this map was in black and white with a flicker that ran through it every three seconds. This particular quirk of the hololith had never bothered Jarrion before, but after having seen Shepard’s rather swish, stable and full-colour version back on the Normandy he did have to admit to perhaps the tiniest smidgen of envy. He’d have to ask where she got it from.

Later, though. Right now he pointed to the swirl of the galaxy hovering above the table.

“Here is the lay of the land, as I was able to make out. This area,” he said, indicating a wide swathe of the galaxy. “Is space under the jurisdiction and nominal control of the ‘Council’, a rather blasphemous-sounding assemblage of alien races and which humanity is - rather unfortunately - a member of. They are the most significant power in the galaxy at present.”

Some murmuring at this, but nothing loud enough to warrant shushing so Jarrion carried on.

“Terra is here, and the surrounding area is under the control of the Systems Alliance, the entity to which our friend Shepard sort of belongs to. Or did prior to her dying. Importantly, they also have some semi-official colonisation efforts here or there which the Council seems happy enough to let them get on with, mostly just so that humanity will do the heavy lifting while they sit back.”

There was a mutually shared moment of distaste at the manifest indolence of aliens, not so much murmuring as muttering and most of it curses. This Jarrion had expected. He’d felt much the same on reading about it himself. Giving the table a light rap to bring the noise level back down to acceptable he continued.

“This chunk up here is apparently known as the Terminus systems. These exist outside of Council control. A hotbed of discord and strife, from the way I was told. A fractious assortment of dictatorships, petty alien empires and so on and so forth united mainly by their distaste of the Council.”

Jarrion was fairly sure that he was missing out on a lot of detail and subtle nuisance but he was also fairly sure he didn’t care. Aliens were aliens, how they felt like dividing up their stretch of the galaxy would only be an issue when it became an obstacle. For now, he could afford to speak in generalities. 

“And this stretch from here to there is called the Attican Traverse. Something of a no-man’s land, apparently - full of things both the Council and those in the Terminus system would like to get their hands on but not-so seriously they want to do so in force, lest either side take offence and a war break out.”

With this Jarrion was confident he’d covered the essentials. Now he could get onto the real meat of his plan and where his thoughts were going.

“Now here is the pertinent detail: in the systems that fall outside of Council control are more than a few human colonies, as I mentioned. These colonies, being where they are, are often left to fend for themselves in the face of a hostile galaxy, with support forthcoming from neither the Council nor this System Alliance. This, to me, represents something of an opportunity. Especially as - according to our new friend Commander Shepard - these colonies are at present experiencing something of a persistent problem.” 

The meeting room was pleasingly silent at this point, those present clearly keen on seeing where the Lord Captain was going with this. Or else trying to come to terms with where they apparently were now. One or the other. Jarrion pointed to the map again, to better underline the point he was going to make.

“At present there appears to be a very particular issues plaguing colonies in these regions - the human colonies specifically. Some manner of alien depredation or other, the details hardly matter. What does matter is that our new friend Commander Shepard has been tasked by a human faction of considerable means to look into this issue and correct it.”

Leaning forward now Jarrion put both hands on the table, looking at each face around the table in turn.

“The plan is something like this: We render a level of assistance to Commander Shepard in this task of hers, sufficient to have this trifling issue with aliens resolved. With this accomplished we will no-doubt be basking in the gratitude of any number of these colonies. At present - ignoring all the reasons as to why it might be so - we are cut off from support. We need a foothold and a base from which to operate. I say we, well, pick one of these colonies. Possibly even the one that the Commander will be heading to shortly.”

“And take over?” Loghain asked flatly, picking the perfect moment so that everyone heard her. Jarrion glared, but had honestly expected a proper interruption before that point, especially from her.

She’d taken her blindfold off upon returning to the Assertive, but having now spent a little time with her Jarrion no-longer found the sight of those charred, ruined socket in anyway unsettling. Funny how easily you got over those things.

“And demonstrate a level of concern and interest in its management and its relation with its neighbours and other nearby colonies, for its own betterment,” he said, emphatically. “We have the manufactorum on board, after all, and are carrying a variety of items they might find useful. Assisting colonies was what we were doing before we got into this mess - if you think about it it’s hardly any different. We help, we find what colonies need, we provide them with the things they need and in so doing receive things other colonies need, and in so doing forge a nice, strong, stable, profitable web of trade to support us.”

“You’re talking about, what? Carving out a little empire?” Altrx asked. Jarrion made a big show of appearing both wounded and offended. Possibly hammed it up a bit much, but he was on a roll.

“Nothing of the sort! I am talking about a strong foundation on which to steady ourselves. I take it none of you here have any notable experience about being cast into the past and cut off from all Imperial support? No? Well, what would any of you do? Go around attempting to impose the Emperor’s Will half-cocked? What good would come of that? Just wander the galaxy hoping something came to you? No. We need resources! Bodies! Materials!”

Jarrion hammered a fist into the table for each of these, to really get his point across. Then he straightened out his jacket and folded his arms, continuing more calmly: 

“And then when we’re secure, when we’re standing on solid ground, we turn our attention to the problem of how we got here, with a view to getting back of course. Indeed, I want that to begin immediately - Pak, I want every available techpriest poring over every scrap of data we have relating to our arrival. Can that happen immediately?”

Pak nodded and quietly started communicating with the other mechanicus on board. While the meeting room might have lacked most-all forms of communication, Pak could still access the noosphere without too much trouble, such as it existed on the Assertive, and so relay this instruction to the other Magos, who in turn passed word down to the lesser brethren, and so on from there.

Within moments, roles had been assigned, and available tech priests peeled away to begin the analysis. Had anyone seen it, they would have been impressed. Probably a little daunted.

But none had, and Jarrion just carried on.

“Really, it would be remiss of us not to grasp this opportunity. This whole area - everywhere beyond the reach of this Council - is rich with many worlds that already been fully surveyed! Worlds abundant with resources! All that’s keeping them from being fully exploited is nervousness and political inertia!”

And this was fresh survey information, too, which was what had really got Jarrion energised. Some of it was barely decades old - practically brand new!

Very little as disheartening as loading up thousands of eager colonists, charting a course, braving the journey through the Warp only to arrive at your destination and find what had been surveyed as a perfectly habitable world was now a lifeless, radiation-blasted hunk of rock and which had been so for centuries. For an example that House Croesus knew all too well.

With information this fresh though? This recent? It was like being Jarrion was personally being offered each of them individually! It was difficult to keep his excitement in check.

But keep it in check he did, adjusting his epaulettes and standing up straight.

“Anyway. That’s all what’s going to happen later. What is happening right now is something else. The Commander’s benefactors have apparently received information that these aliens currently menacing the colonies - known as ‘Collectors’ - are planning an attack. This is the first time such forewarning has been received, and so she shall soon be making all haste to get there first. She has kindly requested we accompany her and I, for one, think this is an excellent idea. Pak, if you would please highlight the relevant spots on the map.”

Pak’s mechadendrites flexed briefly and two spots on the flickering image of the galaxy blinked into greater brightness.

“The colony in question is here. We are here. This is some distance, especially given that at present we have no reliable means of orienting ourselves. Can we-”

“Not possible,” Altrx cut in. Navigators, a lot like Inquisitors, felt they were important enough to be able to interrupt Rogue Traders. Jarrion was left standing with his mouth open mid-speech.

“I’m sorry?” Jarrion asked. Altrx just shrugged, leaning back in his very-expensive chair.

“We’re not going anywhere, not right now. I take it you want to be leaving immediately? That’s not happening.”

“Did you not receive the navigational data?”

“Oh, I did. And I had a look and my staff have had a look and I know astronavigation is looking right now and we are working on it but we haven’t worked out a good way of getting around yet. This is all wholly new territory. I could navigate if the Warp was anything like I was used to but it really, really isn’t. It’s good you’re showing me a destination because that’ll give us something to work against but we’re not going anywhere yet. It’s just not happening.”

Jarrion stared at Altrx, his brain grinding quietly inside his skull.

“How long would you say it will be until the Assertive is ready to get underway?” He asked with far more calm than he felt. Altrx blew out a breath and put his hands behind his head and his boots on the table. Again, this was the sort of thing that Navigators thought they could get away with. Largely because they could.

At least his boots were clean, Jarrion noted.

“Oh, not long. Day? Day or two? I mean, it’ll be touch-and-go softly-softly stuff until we work out the best way of getting from A to B but we’ll be moving at least.”

This did not work to Jarrion’s time frame, which was obliquely Shepard’s timeframe. He was acutely aware of the need to be getting moving in the next hour or so. His mind grappled for alternatives but didn’t really find anything useful.

Not that Altrx cared. Having spoken, the Navigator seemed to have remembered how much he enjoyed the sound of his own voice. Pausing only briefly to light a roll up of some dubiously acquired narcotic substance - being able to smoke anywhere and everywhere he felt like being another thing that Altrx, as a Navigator, was able to get away with - he waved a hand and continued, seeming to address the room at large:

“You see, when I’m there in my cradle and I’m looking into the nightmarish substance of the Empyrean itself, it appears to me - me personally - as a mountain range of sorts. Storm-wracked! Treacherous! Its winding paths ever-changing, the footing unsure. Off in the distance always looms the Astronomicon of course, either faintly or clearly, a vast and bright peak. And this is how I navigate. Here though?”

He took a drag and let out a languid puff. Bastard was taking his time, Jarrion noted. Jarrion had heard this all before. More than once, in fact. It paid to be patient, but even he had limits.

“Here all is calm. All is flat! No mountains do I see. Only rolling, gentle plains. No storms either! Everything is placid. And you’d think that’d be easy, wouldn’t you? You blunt types. But no, not at all! It’s a vast and featureless plain! No landmarks, no sense of direction. How am I to find my way? Your information will help me to find myself and so better direct the ship, yes, but not immediately. It’s a complex process. I don’t think any of you really appreciate that.”

Everyone waited for there to be more, but there wasn’t. Altrx seemed satisfied with what he’d said and put his hands behind his head again, closing his eyes, his input finished. Jarrion stared at him blankly for a moment.

“We all appreciate your forthright answer, Altrx. It’s just that this is a very time-sensitive issue…” he said, sinking back into his chair. No-one had any answers to this. Jarrion sighed and craned his neck to look back to Thale, standing behind him as he usually did.

“What do you think, Thale?” He asked.

“Permission to speak freely, Lord?”

Jarrion nodded permission, saying:

“Of course.”

Thale shifted in place, standing up - somehow - a little straighter than he had been before.

“I didn’t get this far in life by thinking about things.”

“...fair enough,” Jarrion said, turning back again around. “Pak, how do you feel about where we are right now?”

Pak unfolded their arms from their sleeves and held a single augmetic hand out flat, tilting it slightly from one side to the other before putting it back into their sleeve again. The meaning of the gesture was clear, though bizarre to see coming from a Tech Priest.

“You’re very relaxed for a Magos, you know that Pak?” Jarrion asked.

It was difficult to tell given Pak’s face, given that they didn’t have a whole lot of face to work with, but Jarrion felt for sure they were glaring at him. Jarrion sighed again and spread his hands apart on the table.

“Anyone else? Any input at all? Solutions? More problems with no solutions? Loghain, you haven’t criticized me for a good five minutes now, are you feeling alright?”

“It sounds to me an awful lot like you are turning this situation to your advantage. Your personal advantage,” said Loghain.

Jarrion groaned and raised a finger of objection.

“I’m not turning this situation to my personal advantage I am doing my best to turn it towards Imperial advantage! How many times do I have to explain this? How much clearer do I need to make this to you? We are presently the sole representatives of the Imperium in existence! On us rests everything! Our decisions matter and - since this is my ship - it is my decisions that matter!”

“Technically your father’s ship-” Torian started, leaning in from his seat beside Jarrion’s, but Jarrion chose not to listen and just carried on, eyes not leaving Loghain.

“Hopefully we’ll discover a means of returning. Maybe we’ll discover a means of bringing the Imperium here. Are there not gateways through the Warp? Might we not find one? What better gift would it be for the Imperium than for us to already have carved out a foothold for it here, in this new, untapped world? Think of it!”

“I think you’ve come unglued,” said Loghain, pleasantly enough.

“This is why you’re an Inquisitor and I am a Rogue Trader. You see danger in every opportunity while I see opportunity in every danger! Behind every corner! We would be fools not to make the most of what has been handed to us. My plan will work!”

“‘Opportunity in every danger’?” Loghain repeated, mouthing the words with obvious distaste. Jarrion waved a hand at her.

“Not my best work, but my intent is sincere. Hesitation now would be folly. We stand to lose everything if we dawdle. We are not an island. We cannot exist on our own indefinitely. Our resources will dwindle. They are dwindling even as we speak! We have nowhere to go, so we must make somewhere to go! In the Emperor’s name! Via His instrument of House Croesus.”

None of which changed the fact that they weren’t going anywhere right at that moment, of course, much to Jarrion’s chagrin.

A pause while the weight and grandiosity of this statement settled on everyone in the room.

“You’ve been making a lot of speeches lately,” Loghain said, eventually. Jarrion considered snapping back but then lost all the energy for it, his shoulders slumping momentarily before his back stiffened once more. It hadn’t so briefly most in the room didn’t even notice.

“I’m under a lot of stress. But that’s hardly new. Different challenges, but nothing we cannot rise to. Although I’ll admit that our...continuing navigational difficulties have put something of a kink in things.”

“So I noticed,” Loghain said.

And it was then that someone rang the bell outside the door, which was at least more professional than knocking. Jarrion clutched to this interruption like a lifeline, snapping his fingers for a servant to admit whoever it was outside. Turned out to be a member of the bridge crew again. Hardly a surprise.

“We are being hailed again, Lord Captain.”

Jarrion felt he should have seen that coming.

“Emperor have mercy I’m just going to run a wired vox into this room in future…” He said to himself, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms. “Alright, I’ll take it in a moment. Everyone return to their stations. Altrx, you work on getting us moving. I’ll - I’ll figure out how we take our next step.”

How exactly he was meant to do this was something Jarrion thought about the whole way back to the bridge. Nothing struck him, so it was with mounting anxiety that he answered the hail.

“Hello again Commander, you making ready to get underway?” He asked.

Again communication was audio-only. Whether that would ever get fixed was up in the air.

“Yes we are. You guys coming or…?” Came the voice of Commander Shepard. Jarrion continued thinking on his feet, pacing up and down before his command throne, a finger tapping his chin.

“We are, yes, yes. But, uh, unfortunately we are continuing to have something of a navigation issue at present so while, ah - while that’s sorted I felt that I and a small retinue might accompany you to the colony, to assist in operations on the ground, with the Assertive to follow not far behind.”

This he all said off the top of his head, making it up on a word-by-word basis. A lot of people on the bridge were gawking at him, but he just ignored them. Or tried to. He then coughed, hammering a fist against his chest.

“If that’s acceptable?” He ventured.

A pause, the crackling of the less-than-stable communications link.

“Uh, sure, whatever works for you. You’ll be coming over again, then?”

“Yes indeed, presently. See you shortly, Commander.”

Once communication had been cut everyone who had been holding back what a bad idea they thought this was felt free to let rip with how bad they thought the idea was. 

Which, given that Pak didn’t speak, Thale knew not to speak and everyone else wasn’t allowed to speak, was only really Torian and Loghain.

“My Lord! You cannot think to leave the ship at a time like this! And accompany these strangers! Need I remind you, my Lord, there are aliens on that ship!” Torian gasped, his voice lowering on the ‘aliens’ and his eyes flitting to Loghain at the same time.

“Do you honestly think it’s a good idea to hop over there and let them go off who knows where with you along for the ride?” Loghain asked.

“Right now I think it’s our only option,” Jarrion said.

“My Lord! You cannot-” Torian started again, but got no further before Jarrion interrupted.

“I can, and I judge that I have to. This is a one-off opportunity. It’s about what we are seen to be doing! If we dawdle, we miss the chance to appear as the saviours we are! We know we mean well, we know we have their best interests at heart, but if we’re not seen to come to their aid now it will damage our credibility. So no, this has to happen and if it can only happen this way then, well, here we are.”

This settled nothing, and everyone’s individual arguments all broke out all at once and washed over Jarrion in a waft of noise. He absorbed it for a second or so then held up his hands for quiet, which he got.

“I hear your objections and all of your input and while I value it I find myself forced to offer this counterpoint: I am the Lord Captain, I am a Rogue Trader. Beyond the bounds of the Imperium - which is where we are now, one way or another - I carry with me the authority of the Emperor Himself, speak with His voice and act in accordance with His will to promote the interests and advancement of His Imperium. So what I said is going to happen is going to happen. Questions?”

There were no questions.

“Marvellous. I’m glad we could agree,” he said, turning in place. “Master at Arms, if you could please organise a squad of armsmen to be equipped for ground combat. Fully equipped, if you’d be so kind, with rations sufficient to see them through a fortnight if possible. We’ll be taking the heavy lighter for this one.”

“Lord Captain,” said the Master at Arms, getting started on that. Jarrion turned back to those more immediate to him,

“Torian, you’ll have the bridge while I’m away. Keep the ship in one piece and - and I cannot stress the urgency of this - get Altrx to pull his finger out and get the Assertive moving. As soon as he figures out a way to do it you get him to take it to the colony world I marked before, alright? Horizon. As soon as possible. That’s where I will be, yes? So get him to do that,” he said, pointing aggressively in the general direction of the Navigator’s cradle, which was somewhere below and to the front of the bridge and was where Altrx had already disappeared to.

“Of course my Lord but I-” Torian started, but Jarrion had already moved on, now wagging a finger under Loghain’s nose.

“You’re coming with me. I don’t really trust you enough to leave you here,” he said.

“I was coming anyway,” she said, arms folded.

“Of course you were. We’re also going to the armoury first, you and I. Something tells me that we’ll be getting into it on the ground pretty soon.”

“Could it be that we’re planning on heading off an alien attack on a world and have to leave our nice big ship behind and travel instead on a tiddly little ship crewed by the sort of people who think xenos make fine friends and allies?” Loghain offered.

“Exactly that, yes. Come on, let’s slip into something a little more martial. Thale, you’re coming too. Torian, you have the bridge.”

The armoury, given its contents, was located centrally in the ship, deep enough inside to be well protected but also convenient enough to arm those who might need to keep the ratings in order or else repel especially determined boarders. It did not take long to get to, and when they did arrive the armsmen who’d be accompanying them were already there.

Seeing as how the stated purpose of Jarrion’s expedition had been remind the various holdings of House Croesus where their immediately loyalties should lie, supply what equipment they might need, settle any disputes that might have arisen and also possible see off the occasional alien raid, its stock of armaments was comparatively light. Especially compared to, say, his brother’s ship.

But, being a Rogue Trader vessel, what armaments there were were of particularly high quality.

And so it was that the armsmen picked to accompany Jarrion were all equipped in full carapace, bearing beautifully maintained Minerva-Aegis lascarbines and had already been issued with - at least from what Jarrion could see before he moved towards his own personal section - a heavy bolter, a plasma gun and a formidable selection of grenades, at the very least.

This was just the sort of thing to bring along when meeting strangers and aliens. It was important to make a good first impression. And, in the case of particular hostile aliens, a lasting first impression. As it were.

The armsmen saluted briefly as Jarrion passed and he waved greeting, pausing a moment to have some words with their sergeant about the nature of the mission and what might be expected of them. He kept it vague, but was keen to stress that they should expect the unexpected.

With that cryptic and unhelpful advice delivered, Jarrion, Thale and Loghain continued on.

From his end of the armoury Jarrion quickly zeroed in on what he felt were the essentials. His own suit of carapace with its integrated refractor field, his power sword (as opposed to his other sword which he’d worn the first time he’d gone over, which had just been a sword sword), his bolt pistol - the essentials.

Loghain got armour, too. Jarrion insisted, especially about the helmet. He also found a gun for her. Specifically, a laspistol.

“And this is for you,” Jarrion said.

“I don’t think giving the blind person a firearm is a particularly good idea,” Loghain said, continuing to shift and settle in what was clearly the unfamiliar weight of full carapace. 

He might not have liked her that much - or at least be fairly certain he didn’t like her that much - but Jarrion wasn’t so stupid as to think not having her around would be an improvement. Like any possible resource, she was to be protected.

That, and a dead Inquisitor was probably more trouble than a live one, weirdly.

“I know you can see perfectly well, Loghain. If you don’t feel a particular need to fire it that’s your choice, I’d just prefer not to have anyone unarmed on this trip. Take the gun,” he said, rolling his eyes.

He thrust the laspistol to her again and this time she took it, not even fumbling for it. Once she laid her hands on it though she frowned, tilting her head down.

“Is this it?”

“It’s all we have left,” Jarrion lied, not even bothering to sound like he wasn’t. Loghain transferred her frown from the pistol to him, though he was unmoved.

“Most people are nicer to Inquisitors.”

“Most people aren’t Rogue Traders.”

Personally speaking, Jarrion felt that las weapons got short shrift. He felt this was unfair.

Yes, they were a ubiquitous and robust weapon, the weapon of the common soldiery. They therefore lacked mystique and prestige. They were so commonplace you’d be hard pressed to find a world in the Imperium where you wouldn’t be tripping over the things, and in a galaxy of options many felt it often came up short where it counted.

Which was fair enough. But there was a reason they were so prolific. They worked. And not just in the sense that they worked and kept on working, but also in the sense that they worked for their intended purpose, assuming they were used correctly.

It was quite easy for people to forget that they were still weapons, and comparatively nasty ones at that. 

He had seen with his own eyes what a las round could do to soft tissue. A bullet to the gut would bleed and was no joke, but with prompt attention wasn’t anything a proper and stoic person couldn’t walk off. 

A lasbolt to the gut left a fist-sized, bleeding hole surrounding by ruptured flesh at best or - if it hit the right spot - a ragged through-and-through, prior to the wound channel collapsing in on itself, of course. 

He’d even heard - though never seen - that if you got a clean shot to the spine it was possible to blow someone in half. Assuming you hit them at full power. There wasn’t a lot of walking away from that.

Which was why Jarrion made a point to always carry his Steel Burner laspistol as a backup whenever he went off expecting aggression. When all else failed, it rarely did. 

Not that Loghain paid attention to this, of course. She just saw his bolt pistol, those empty sockets of hers angling down to where it hung on his hip. She also pouted, which was decidedly weird looking coming from an Inquisitor.

“You have a bolt pistol. Why can’t I have a bolt pistol?” She asked.

“Mine is the only one on board, I’m afraid,” he said, giving the weapon a pat.

This was not anywhere near true. Technically his was the only one of its make and model on board, but they did just happen to have a small rack of the things made to a lesser standard were anyone to require one. Not that Loghain had been told that. Not that she apparently needed to have been.

“You’re lying! I can literally see that you’re lying.”

Jarrion shrugged.

“I’m lying then. You still can’t have one.”

“This is very petty of you.”

“Sorry, but I just don’t think it’d be safe trusting a blind person with a bolt weapon,” he said.

“...fine. I’ll give you this one,” Loghain groused, finally holstering the pistol.

“Generous of you. Thale, you all tooled up?”

Thale - who had been ready for minutes now - raised his hellgun by way of saying yes.

Briefly Jarion wondered if Thale was even not all tooled up. The man literally slept in his armour. It was a wonder he didn’t smell more than he did. The benefit of years of experience, probably.

Loading up on spare ammunition and having a servitor carry it they then proceeded to the hanger - no time to waste and all that.

Again, the armsmen were ahead of them, sorting through personal equipment and also checking and re-checking what weaponry and provisions they were taking along. Behind them sat the heavy lighter, already being blessed and prepared. Also there was a looming, terrifying figure that made Jarrion double-take when he saw it.

“Pak? Is that you?”

It was, though it did not look like it was.

Pak had got changed in preparation for the trip, too. Only Pak’s change had involved switching the robes out for armour that gave the Magos an additional half foot or so of height and what appeared to be a good few inches of solid armour plate all over.

Dragon Scale, Jarrion vaguely remembered it being called. Some kind of Mechanicus power armour. Certainly it looked formidable, and the small, articulated cannon mounted on the armour’s shoulder only served to make it even more daunting.

And Pak had also decided - feeling that apparently this wasn’t enough on its own - to swap out their whole right arm for another, bigger gun. This one was glowing. On seeing Jarrion and the others approaching Pak gave a small wave with their remaining hand.

“Okay, so Pak’s a tank now. You’re coming along as well?” Jarrion asked, walking over.

Pak nodded, slowly.

“Well I’m not going to say no. You prepared? Packed?”

Pak nodded again as a tracked servitor rolled to gentle stop just behind them, carrying a ferociously weighty looking metal case in each hand. The contents could only be guessed at. Jarrion’s eyes flicked from the ridiculously tooled-up techpriest to the servitor and back again.

Someone with only one arm does not take a servitor to load two cases onto a ship and then leave. Someone with only one arm takes the servitor with them to carry their luggage off again afterwards.

“Alright, but the servitor stays on the lighter if at all possible, okay? We’re still doing our best not to scare the locals,” Jarrion said.

Again, Pak nodded, already plenty scary enough on their own.

“Good. Great. Let’s get moving. Final checks, get all cargo stowed, I want us out of here in three minutes,” Jarrion said, raising his voice and waving an arm around his head.

“Why three?” Loghain asked.

“Not as long as five, not as short as one,” he said. She accepted this with an ‘oh’.

And, indeed, not three minutes later they were on their way again, rocketing through the space separating the Assertive from the Normandy. Not a long journey by any means, but long enough for Jarrion to note that Loghain was, again, giving him the eyeless stare, her helmet safely stowed beneath her seat, as was his.

“I feel that you’re waiting to spring something on me,” he said to her.

“What are you going to do - if anything - about the aliens that appear to be part of the Commander’s crew? Just out of curiosity,” Loghain asked. Jarrion sighed.

“Is it good that the humans here apparently cooperate with aliens? No, of course it’s not. But it’s a fact. I don’t really intend to do anything about them if I can help it,” he said.

“Interesting, interesting.”

“I’m not sure what answer you want from me here, Loghain. I’m not going to start copulating with the things or trading out the Assertive for some alien vessel or anything like that. If the Commander wishes to pal around with xenos, fine, that’s her lookout and that can be her downfall. I am going to take a things a step at a time. If I find aliens that are a threat? They shall be dealt with. If I find aliens that might be of use? Then they’ll be put to use. That’s it.”

“Another resource to be exploited, then?”

“Quite so. There’s quite a precedence for Rogue Traders making use of xenos in such a way, as I’m sure you’re aware. Unless you’re my father or my brother, obviously…”

House Croesus, fairly famously, tended to see the only use of aliens being as something to discharge weapons at. A fair enough stance, by any measure, but one that had always struck Jarrion as possibly more wasteful than it needed to be.

Not that he’d ever made this position known to his father or his brother, obviously. At least, not more than once.

“Yes, I had heard of that sort of behaviour,” Loghain said.

“I suppose there’s still no chance of you revealing why you happen to be on my ship?” Jarrion asked.

“Can’t you guess?”

“Guessing the motives of an Inquisitor does not strike me as a good idea. I wouldn’t even know where to start. Investigating me? My family? Stowing away on the way to somewhere else? Who can say?” Jarrion shrugged, or at least shrugged as much as he could strapped into his seat by his crash-harness.

Loghain, disconcertingly, grinned.

“Overwhelmed by possibilities?” She asked.

A crackle over the lighter’s internal vox told them it was approximately a minute before landing in the Normandy. For a tiny, tiny moment Jarrion wondered what in the God Emperor’s name he was actually doing. But it passed, and the unshakable confidence of leadership returned.

He found himself grinning back at Loghain, with rather more intensity than the Inquisitor could muster.

“Yes,” he said. “It’s wonderful.”


	13. Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went to a wedding and it really threw my rhythm off.
> 
> Okay, couple things:
> 
> 1) I have no real handle on transit times in ME. Relay travel is said to be 'near instaneous' or thereabouts, whereas FTL is, well, FTL. So I'm fudging it for the sake of ease and because this story shouldn't be taken too seriously anyway. Warp travel is, likewise, going to be fudged but I'll get to that...
> 
> 2) Likewise, I'm fudging details on the interior layout of the Normandy. I always figured there was accomodation you couldn't see.
> 
> Horizon'll likely be real fudgy, too, but that's next chapter's problem.
> 
> Anyway, more cultural friction.

The last shuttle the visitors had arrived in had just about managed to fit into the hanger, this one had to squeeze. That its wings could fold in against its hull was vital in allowing this, and even then it was a close run thing. Shepard winced whenever she heard scraping.

“Oh I hope those buff out,” she said.

Squat legs extended from the belly of the craft and hissed as their pneumatics took its considerable weight, sinking down towards the deck. Steam - or possibly something else, it was unclear - vented here and there from across its hull which was a little worrying and which caused all members of the Normandy who were watching to take a collective step backwards.

Once settled it sat a second or two, giving everyone a good opportunity to again see that big two-headed eagle symbol before, with a hiss, the heavy ramp that made up most of the underside of the shuttle’s nose opened, unfurling and extending, exposing the crew compartment.

And standing there at the top of the ramp in full, heavy armour, helmet tucked under his arm, jacket hanging from his shoulders, with a sword on one hip and a big, chunky pistol-thing on the other was Jarrion, looking happy as anything. 

“Hello again, Commander,” he said.

This guy, Shepard thought. This guy.

“Looking pretty sharp there, Jarrion. You do know you didn’t have to come over in full armour, right? It’s going to be a few days getting there,” she said.

Jarrion looked down at himself and gave a self-effacing smile and shrug.

“The thought did occur to me but only once we were over halfway here. Still, such is life.”

At this point Loghain came wandering up beside Jarrion and Shepard did a brief double-take on noticing that she’d ditched the blindfold and on seeing why she’d been wearing one in the first place. Shepard got over it, however.

“Hope you brought a change of clothes or else that stuff is a lot more comfortable than it looks,” she said, folding her arms.

“Oh, we did.”

Jarrion wasn’t lying. Alongside the plentiful arms and ammunition the lighter had had packed onto it he had also - as a matter of precaution - had many other sundries packed as well. Rations, some survival gear, changes of clothes, etcetera.

Failing to prepare was preparing to fail, after all.

Shepard was still peering into the dim, red-lit interior of the lighter, seeing the armsmen milling about behind Jarrion, sorting out their gear.

“Brought a squad of guys again as well, I see, and - hold up, what’s that?” Shepard asked, breaking off from whatever they been moving towards and pointing to what looked like a combat mech that had just lumbered up behind Jarrion, who turned in mild confusion.

“Ah, that’d be Pak. You remember Pak? They’ve dressed for the occasion,” he said, moving to give the Magos a slap on the back but very quickly thinking better of it. Shepard just looked Pak from top to bottom.

“What, was-wearing-the-red-robes Pak Doesn’t-say-anything Pak?” She asked, trying to reconcile the small, quiet, weird Pak she’d thought herself familiar with with the apparent armour-plated killing machine that was now standing next to Jarrion.

“One and the same,” Jarrion said. Shepard squinted.

“Is their arm a gun now?”

“Yes, yes it is. Not entirely sure what sort of gun if I’m being honest but, well, Mechanicus. Who knows? I’m sure we’ll benefit from it at some point.”

Was that sort of thing normal where Jarrion came from, Shepard wondered - people getting enormous guns attached directly to their arms? Replacing their arms, in fact. She wasn’t really sure what to make of that, or where to start unpicking that sort of thought process. In the immediate term, there were other issues.

“Don’t want to come across like a bad host or anything but I’m not one hundred percent comfortable having someone with a gun-arm wandering around my ship,” she said.

“Ah, of course not. Um, Pak, I know this may not be ideal but would you mind terribly waiting in the lighter until we’ve arrived?”

Unlike the non-Mechanicus members of Jarrion’s little entourage, Pak would probably have difficulty slipping into something more comfortable. Luckily, the Magos could have cared less about mingling and saw absolutely no issue with staying on the lighter. If anything they were actually rather glad to have been given an out of whatever tedious social functions were sure to follow.

Or at least as close to gladness as Pak allow themselves to feel. They nodded.

“Was that a ‘Yes I do mind’ nod or a ‘Yes I don’t mind’ nod?” Shepard asked.

“I think it’s fine. My armsmen will be content to remain in the hanger as well, if that suits you?”

Shepard hadn’t really been looking forward to asking whether ten or so trained guys following someone else’s orders could perhaps limit themselves to one of the more secure and isolated parts of the ship but she had been building up to it - call her paranoid, but it just didn’t sit right with her.

“It’s a tough sell, I know, but-”

“Oh no, don’t worry. I wouldn’t wish to impose while I’m your guest, Commander,” Jarrion said.

Diplomacy was important. Sometimes. As horrifying as his brother might have found the concept. But Jarrion actually had long-term goals in mind here, and those - he felt - could only be best served by playing nicely.

“Sergeant?” He beckoned the squad sergeant over and over the squad sergeant came, snapping to attention.

“Lord Captain?”

“You chaps don’t mind having to camp in the lighter and keeping yourself to the hanger for the duration of the journey? Should only be a few days, all told.”

The lighter, being the heavier model, did have a chemical toilet, though Jarrion wasn’t looking forward to what ten men sharing it was going to be like after a day or two of transit and had to ride the lighter back down to the surface. Suddenly, he was profoundly grateful that he’d brought a helmet.

“We’d bivvy up an Ork’s arse if you needed us to, Lord Captain,” the sergeant said. Jarrion blinked. 

“...vivid imagery, sergeant, thank you. Much appreciated. If there’s any briefings related to the mission you’ll be summoned,” he said. The sergeant gave a salute.

“Lord Captain.”

He then rejoined the others and Jarrion turned back to Shepard.

“Assuming that’s okay?” he then asked the Commander, who shrugged. He took for granted that she’d understood their Low Gothic conversation. Whatever translation capabilities they had were a subject of minor interest to Jarrion, but he’d cross that bridge when he came to it.

All things in time, no rush.

“Fine by me. There’ll be a briefing prior to us arriving so your man can come to that,” Shepard said.

“Marvellous.”

“In the meantime you and Loghain cane come on up, I’ll show you around. Maybe have your man there - Thale, wasn’t it? - lose the huge gun. I don’t think he’ll need it anytime soon.”

Thale had been there the whole time but, as Thale managed to often edge out Pak in the looming-and-silent stakes by not clanking and whirring when he walked, no-one had really had any reason to notice him yet. Jarrion turned, flinched on finding Thale standing so close to him, and then said:

“Ah yes, Thale, if you wouldn’t mind?”

Thale duly and dutifully left his hellgun in the lighter. He would have taken the grenades off his webbing, too, but the Commander had neglected to mention those to Jarrion and so Jarrion had not asked him to. Thale imagined this was an oversight, but knew better than to act on his own initiative. If it was important, someone would have told him so or would tell him so.

For her part Shepard just hadn’t recognised them as grenades.

She didn’t push any further than asking Thale to remove the hellgun, either. She could have done and, indeed, had the right to, but figured that having Jarrion, Loghain and Thale walk around with their sidearms would make them feel a little more trusted, and wasn’t that kind of a good thing? Certainly, she’d have felt better for keeping strapped, had she been in their shoes.

Besides, security teams were only a button press away, should it come to that. Which it probably wouldn’t. Hopefully. 

And at least they’d be leaving that whacking great ship behind soon. The - albeit highly unlikely - threat of armed assault coming from inside the Normandy was one thing, but Shepard felt pretty confident she could handle that. She was a killing machine, after all.

Getting the ship she was standing in blown to bits, however? Not so much fun. And she’d know. Not an experience she wanted to risk a repeat of anytime soon.

So no, play nice, be polite. They were all on the same side after all.

“Alright, cracking, let’s go,” Shepard said once Thale had returned from unstrapping the hellgun from himself. She made for the elevator and Jarrion moved to follow only for a sudden, fearsome grip on his shoulder to keep him in place. 

This came as something of a surprise, doubly so when he found that it was Pak who’d put a hand onto his shoulder. A very strong hand, as it turned out.

“Yes, Pak?” Jarrion asked, politely.

Pak stood and said nothing, lowering their hand as in the rear of the lighter’s compartment the tracked servitor started moving, opening up one of Pak’s cases, rummaging briefly and somewhat awkwardly before trundling on over, bearing something. Jarrion looked down.

“Ah. I see. I suppose that’s fair,” he said.

Pak nodded slowly and a mechadendrite extended to interface briefly with what the servitor was holding. A moment after this the lights on the thing flickered into life and it rose, wobbling, into the air.

“Uh, Commander?” Jarrion called and Shepard stopped and turned back, seeing that now the Rogue Trader had what appeared to be a skull floating around his head. Shepard blinked but the skull was still there.

“Commander, you wouldn’t mind if Pak had their servo skull accompany me? It’ll be unobtrusive, just there to observe. So the Magos doesn’t feel their left out of proceedings,” Jarrion said as Shepard eyed the thing now bobbing around just above Jarrion’s shoulder, turning one way and then the other.

“Sure. That’s a - what? A drone? Shaped like a skull?” She asked. That’s sure what it looked like, but she thought it would pay to be certain, just in case she really had started seeing things.

Seriously, what was the deal with the skulls? Would it be rude to ask?

“Drone?” Jarrion asked, frowning as he descended the lighter’s ramp, as though the word were unusual. “It’s a...servo skull.”

He wasn’t entirely sure how best to sum up the concept to someone plainly unfamiliar with it. To him, it was so manifestly self-evident and self-explanatory he wasn’t even sure where he was meant to start. 

The skull of a favoured or particular devoted servant - presumably some Mechanicus Adept, given that the servo skull was in Pak’s possession - fitted with sufficient mechanisms to allow it to be inhabited by a rudimentary machine spirit, and so in turn allow this servant to continue serving their master (and, by extension, the Imperium) even after they’d given their life in service. What could be more obvious?

Jarrion was not sure how to express this, or even where he would have to start. Didn’t the name give it away? Weren’t drones those blasphemous-sounding combat machines those devious aliens out to the galactic east liked to use? Thale had mentioned those before.

“Yes, it’s a drone shaped like a skull,” Loghain said. Unlike Jarrion, she knew what a drone was in essence, and also knew that stopping to explain the concept of duty extending beyond death to non-Imperials was something that could wait.

“Alright. Guess you guys got an aesthetic going here,” Shepard said, not fully grasping what it was she was seeing but shrugging it off anyway. Drones weren’t an especially big issue. Tali had a drone.

Shepard escorted the guests on her own, the others who’d been with her in the cargo hold to watch the lighter arrive staying put to look busy and not crowd her out as she gave Jarrion and co a brief tour of the Normandy, just to give them some idea of what was what and where things were.

First, she showed them where they would be sleeping, should they so choose. It was one of the Normandy’s ‘guest’ rooms, for want of a better term, and presently unoccupied. It was, by Jarrion’s standards, tiny. Shockingly so. It had a bunk bed.

Jarrion had rather expected more luxurious accomodation which, in retrospect, had probably been a bit silly. The Normandy was, after all, tiny and so unable to spare the sort of room even a vessel like the Assertive was able to for its senior crew.

He pretended that what he’d been presented with was fine and not at all a gross indignity and insult to his station. Worse things had probably happened, he just couldn’t think of when off the top of his head.

“How rustic,” he said, picking an entirely inappropriate word but running with it anyway.

“I get the top,” Loghain said.

“What are you, twelve?” Jarrion asked, appalled, but she just smirked.

Secretly he wished he’d been quicker off the mark, but he’d die before admitting that.

Following this they were briefly shown a few other areas of interest. The armoury, the lab, the mess, the battery, brief jaunt down to engineering and so on and so forth. Shepard wasn’t wholly sure what the purpose of this tour was, really. Partly to pass the time, partly just to see how her guests reacted. With polite mystification, mostly. 

Truly, the Normandy was unlike any vessel any of the Imperials had been on before. So horrendously quiet, so clean, so austere. It was designed to operate on principles they were entirely unfamiliar with. Had a servo skull been able to express excitement, it seemed likely that Pak’s would have done so, particularly on seeing the Element Zero core. It had had to be pulled away when they’d left engineering.

For his part, Jarron was still just amazed at how small the ship was, how spartan, and how light its crew complement was. No Navigator, either! Obviously, what with their strange reliance on these ‘relays’, but it was still an odd thought.

Truly they did things differently here.

A little after this tour, a welcome-aboard meal of sorts was put together.

Shepard figured it would be a good way to break the ice further, maybe learn a few more things and generally try and ease tensions between her team and the visitors. She did make sure to sit the non-human members the other end of the table from the visitors, though, even if it irritated her. She’d be asking about that when she got the chance.

EDI had - in remarkably quick time - come up with a translation device for just such an occasion. While everyone on the Normandy had by now received the language package allowing them to understand Low Gothic, Shepard guessed - correctly, though she didn’t know that - that her guests were not so lucky.

The device, therefore, would sit on the table and translate into Low Gothic. Kind of a rough-and-ready solution, but it’d get the job done. 

And not that they had any idea it was called Low Gothic, of course. So far they’d left the language unnamed. But that was by the by.

Good spread Shepard had put on, too. One of the benefit of Cerberus over the Alliance - beyond the very plush leather upholstery - was that ration quality had improved a fair bit. Particular since Shepard had gone out of her way to make sure that they really did have everything they needed.

A fed crew was a happy crew, and a happy crew as an effective crew. It all added up!

The tables had been pushed together. Jarrion, Loghain and Thale were all sat in a row on one end, separated from Mordin and Grunt by Jacob, while Shepard, Garrus and Miranda sat opposite. This seating arrangement had been very deliberate.

Conversation was not flowing. There had been some faltering efforts at small talk - what did you think of the ship, your armour looks nice, etcetera - but they hadn’t gone very far and things had petered out and gone rather quiet.

This was agonising, so, sighing, Shepard decided to just take the bull by the horns and get things going herself.

“Alright, I’ve got to get this out of the way because it really is the elephant in the room: what’s the deal with you guys and non-humans?” She asked, directing it mainly towards Jarrion, though the question could just as easily work for any of the three.

Maybe not Thale? He was kind of hard to read. Shepard just assumed.

Jarrion, on hearing this, pricked up his ears and cocked his head.

“Hmm?” 

“Aliens. Why don’t you like aliens,” Shepard said, bluntly.

“Ah, oh, I see. Ahem, well.”

Jarrion was prevaricating and playing for time, not really sure how best to explain. He also kept glancing to Loghain in the hopes that she might maybe step in and help him. She did not, because she was pretending to be more blind than she was, and acting as though she didn’t notice.

On realising that he was being left to twist in the wind on this question, Jarrion sighed, sat up straighter, and tried to think how best to sum up what the problem with xenos was to someone who didn’t know any better.

“I’m sure many aliens are, ah, perfectly pleasant on a personal basis,” he said, to start things off. Jarrion did not believe this for a second, of course. 

He imagined that some aliens might be more tolerable than others, but that was about as far as he was willing to accept. He imagined that what he’d said would go down better than his actual thoughts on the matter, which was that aliens were by their very inhuman nature vicious, wicked and untrustworthy and it was more a case of when they demonstrated this, rather than if.

“I’m feeling that there’s a ‘but’ coming up next,” Shepard said and Jarrion swallowed.

“Heh, yes, well. But most aliens - most aliens myself, Thale and Loghain are familiar with, I should say - are a threat not only to mankind’s divinely ordained right to exercise its sovereignty over the galaxy but also a threat to mankind’s survival itself.”

Jarrion pointed to Shepard across the table with his fork. Gestures like these were very important when delivering speeches. You had to make the best of what props you had to hand. 

He continued: 

“You yourself are dealing with these attacks on these colonies, yes? Well imagine that repeated on a grander scale, across the length and breadth of the galaxy - humans enslaved and exterminated or worse by every alien race it happens to encounter, for thousands of years. Ten of thousands of years, in fact.”

Had there ever been a time when humanity and aliens had existed in peace? No, not really. At least not as far as Jarrion knew. From the moment mankind had first set forth into the stars the alien, jealous, had been there to prey on any moment of weakness shown.

Of course you heard about this or that isolated colony or this or that misguided group that thought they had a cordial and mutually beneficial relationship with aliens, but it was always only ever a prelude to a horrendous fate. 

That’s where trusting xenos got you.

“We hate and wage war upon the alien because the alien hates and wages war upon us. But where they are vile, craven creatures of no great purpose we are humanity, destined to rule the galaxy alone.”

A sucking vacuum of silence greeted this and Jarrion added:

“More or less. Does that answer the question?”

“Maybe a bit more than I’d wanted, yeah,” Shepard said, casting an eye towards Garrus, Mordin and Grunt who all looked pretty unreadable following what Jarrion had said. She eyed Grunt especially, but the Krogan didn’t appear in any great hurry to start anything, for which Shepard could only be glad.

“You’re probably quite lucky that it was Jarrion you met, all things considered,” Loghain said, dragging Shepard’s attention back again.

“Why’s that?”

“Most honest Imperial citizens wouldn’t have had anything to do with if they saw you associating with aliens. Most, actually, would probably have tried to kill you, depending on whether they were able to or not. The more zealous might have tried even if they’d had no hope of succeeding. Hatred of aliens is a religious obligation as much as anything else, after all. Jarrion though is one of those very rare individuals allowed to engage legally in peaceful contact with aliens, should he so choose.”

Shepard decided to let the rather belligerent first part of that statement slide for now, feeling that Loghain was just trying to get under her skin.

“Because he’s a - what - Rogue Trader, wasn’t it?” She asked instead, and Loghain nodded.

“Yes. Other Imperial agencies would likely be less friendly.”

“Alright, let’s maybe talk about that, just to get onto less awkward topics. Agencies: like what? What runs this galaxy-wide empire of yours?” Shepard asked, looking between the two of them for an answer to a comparatively more softball question.

Loghain shrugged this one off onto Jarrion, who was happier to be answering something more expository than potentially thorny.

“Well the Emperor, of course. Though the actual obligations of the day-to-day runnings have been delegated. You have the High Lords of Terra, representing as they do the various branches of Imperial governance and authority - the Navis Nobilite, the Administratum, the Ministorum, the Adeptus Mechanicus of which our friend Pak is a member, the Imperial guard, the Inquisition, and so on. This is in broad strokes and I’m missing out one or two but you get the idea,” he said.

Very little of what he’d just listed made any sense of to Shepard, but she felt that going after any one of them would just lead further down a rabbit hole and require more explanation that they really had time for. She decided to go for something else.

“Mostly, yeah. That’s still a lot of very daunting proper nouns. And what’s Loghain? Since you did tell me she isn’t an ambassador,” Shepard said. Loghain on hearing this turned towards Jarrion and rested her chin on her hand and her elbow on the table, the better to give him a look.

“Did you now?”

“Oh come on, you weren’t fooling anyone!” Jarrion protested.

In Loghain’s defence she hadn’t really been trying to. Giving Jarrion another second or so of the staring treatment she then turned to Shepard.

“I am an Inquisitor,” Loghain said. Shepard raised her eyebrows, which did fascinating things to her scars.

“That sounds ominous,” she said, and Loghain grinned that grin of hers.

“It does, doesn’t it?”

Shepard waited for more, but more came there none. So she turned to Jarrion, who was midway through a mouthful so had to quickly chew and swallow before he could answer.

“An Inquisitor is an agent of the Throne empowered to do just about anything that might need to be done in order to protect the Imperium. To paint in broad strokes. Again,” he said, waving his fork around for illustrative purposes. It was a versatile conversational tool.

Being a Rogue Trader and thus moving in the rarified air of the very, very upper crust of Imperial society, Jarrion knew more about the Inquisition than most ordinary citizens might be expected to - especially given that most ordinary citizens who did know more than they should were unlikely to make this knowledge known. 

Knowing too much was famously very poor for the health of the average Imperial citizen.

But Jarrion did know a little, particularly as an Inquisitor had once accompanied his father on one of his more explicitly martial ventures. At the time Jarrion had been much younger and so had found the looming man in the big armour to be terrifying regardless of his position, but the Inquisitor had turned out to be surprisingly gregarious for a man who regularly oversaw the genocide of alien species and had explained to young Jarrion a few ins and outs of how the Inquisition functioned, just to indulge his youthful curiosity. 

Odd behaviour for an Inquisitor Jarrion had learned, in retrospect, but apparently Monodominants weren’t especially concerned about being subtle, and the Inquisitor - his name escaped Jarrion now - had been very enamoured of his father’s methods. 

“Which are you again, Loghain? Are you Xenos, Malleus or Hereticus?” He asked. 

“Yes,” she said.

Jarrion rather hoped that the mild social pressure of the occasion might finally serve to pin her down. He should have known better.

“Fine, keep your secrets, see if I care…” he grumbled, jabbing at his plate irritably.

“Kind of sounds like a Spectre to me,” Garrus said idly, shoving food around his plate. What he’d said came back out of the translation device on the table as Low Gothic and both Loghain and Jarrion turned slowly to look down the table at him.

Tiny bit tense for a moment. Jarrion did manage a smile though, and managed to keep eye-contact with Garrus at the same time, too. Looked like him took some effort, but he managed it.

“Ah, yes. I can’t say I’m familiar with the term,” he said.

“Council agents charged with enforcing Council law and protecting Council assets and citizens by just about whatever means they deem necessary. In broad strokes,” Shepard said, chewing.

Jarrion could certainly see the similarities, he supposed.

“Shepard was a Spectre,” Jacob said, nodding to the Commander.

“Until I died, yeah. Fair play. I should really look into getting reinstated…”

She’d meant to, she just hadn’t got around to it yet.

“Do you also blow up planets?” Jarrion asked her. 

Had Loghain had eyes she could have looked at him sideways at this point. She did not though, so instead just kicked him under the table. Since he was still wearing his armour this did nothing, but he got the point and was delighted that he’d managed to get to her, even just a smidgen.

“Blow up planets?” Shepard repeated, not sure if this was some sort of futuristic joke or not.

“Inquisitors have been known to do that from time to time,” Jarrion said.

Again, another moment of silence around the table.

“You’re kidding, right?” Jacob asked.

“No, unfortunately,” Jarrion said with exaggerated sadness. Mostly he was doing this to annoy Loghain, but he also did abhor the practise personally. He could understand the need for it, sometimes, but he still couldn’t get over what a waste it was.

Still. Always more worlds, somewhere. And certainly always more people.

Jacob turned to Loghain, who he was sitting next to.

“He’s not kidding?”

Loghain very delicately cut up some of the food on her plate and ate a piece before replying, taking her sweet time in doing so.

“We have something of a reputation for it. Unjustified, in my opinion. I’ve never done it. Besides, they’re hardly blown up. Just cleansed.”

“Is there a difference?” MIranda asked.

“Yes.”

Kind of a conversation-killer, that one. At least it had got people talking a bit more, until they’d stopped.

Dessert was rather subdued.

-

Well that hadn’t gone quite to plan.

I’d sort of hoped for a bit of banter, if I’m being honest. Learn a little, get us all talking, you know? Instead we get some kind of mini-speech about how it’s important to kill aliens before they kill us and also how purging a planet is different to blowing it up.

What was I supposed to do with any of that?

The guests were all tucked up now. Jarrion and Loghain were sharing that cabin and Thale had been dismissed and gone back down to their shuttle along with that weird floating skull. Oh yeah, I’d almost forgotten about the cargo hold full of armed men as well. Xenophobic armed men, presumably.

I’m sure it’ll all work out.

The team had hung around after Jarrion and co had excused themselves, waiting until they were all very much out of earshot - and this confirmed by EDI - before we all got started on talking.

“Alright. Our guests. Thoughts?” I asked, opening the table up to comments and discussion.

No-one seemed to want to be the one to speak first. Jacob was the one to crack first:

“We all agree this has to be some sort of extended performance piece, right?”

“Possible, though improbable,” Mordin said, appearing deep in thought. He’d appeared like for basically the whole dinner, just listening and not commenting. Formulating something, clearly. 

“Assuming they’re on the level - and that’s a big assumption - this Imperium doesn’t sound the friendliest of neighbours to have,” Garrus said.

Kind of seemed a bit like an understatement to me, but he wasn’t wrong. A galaxy-spanning empire full of people like that? Worse than that? Did not sound like a fun place. At least not to me.

And when has having Inquisitors ever been a good thing or ended well?

God, now I’m acting as though I believe it!

Do I though?

This, I think, is the stumbling block for all of us right now. On the one hand we’ve got these guys and this ship and this attitude and this language and all this tech none of which is anything like anything else we’ve seen and let’s not forget also popping up right next to us literally out of empty space.

On the other hand we have to have some standards on what we’re willing to accept, surely.

Ugh. Killer robots from the cold depths of intergalactic space was a big enough reach, now this? Time travelling space-racists with a thing for skulls?

“You were quiet, Grunt. Deep in thought?” I asked, mostly just to keep my brain from wandering away from me.

“About what?”

“That whole dinnertime conversation we had? With the guys who just left?” I said, gesturing in the vague direction of where Jarrion and Loghain had gone. Grunt followed where I was pointing and shrugged.

“I wasn’t listening, I was eating,” he said.

Couldn’t argue with that.

There was a little more discussion after that. Some comments about how creepy it had been just having that skull floating there, watching. How Thale’s scars were almost as bad as mine - tasteful guys, thanks, remember that bit where I died? A bit of idle speculation about the performance of that big ship of Jarrion’s and also how it got about, given that apparently it didn’t use relays.

Interesting stuff, mildly, but nothing leading to any conclusions. I decided to draw a line under it.

“Alright. I’m tired,” I said, cutting through whatever had been going on. “I’m going to bed in a second and from tomorrow I’m going to be concentrating more on the mission we’ve got waiting for us at the end of this journey. My final word on our guests:”

I took a breath, gathered myself, laid my hands on the table.

“I think we need to keep an eye on these guys. And I don’t just mean right now, I mean after we’ve done this mission. Even if everything else they’re saying is bollocks Jarrion is still a guy with a head full of pretty questionable notions about human non-human relations in charge of a real big ship. I’m not wholly comfortable just letting him cruise around,” I said.

“He’s not the only human who doesn’t like aliens,” Garrus said, running a thumb over the Cerberus logo of the mug in his hands.

Subtle, Garrus. Now you got Miranda sulking.

“Xenophobia is not the exclusive preserve of humans. Can I just point that out?” She said.

This sort of sidetracking was exactly what I didn’t need and I rapped a knuckle on the table until everyone else shut up.

“This isn’t an in-depth discussion on the subject, this is me saying that anyone flying around in a ship that’s four kilometres long and who thinks anyone who doesn’t share a species with them doesn’t deserve to live is a concern to me. And - and this is the kicker, and I feel ridiculous for even contemplating it but here we are - and assuming he’s telling the truth and there’s some whole other future full of people like him and he could come back here, what’s to stop another one?”

I did feel ridiculous for putting this idea out there but you did have to be open to these things. If it happened once, why not again? Then what?

Not something I really had the energy to contemplate right at that moment.

“But that’s not - we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. If we come to it. RIght now this discussion ends. They’re here, they’ll help us out on this mission. The mission is what we’re all thinking about right now, okay? We get to Horizon, we work from there. Got it?”

Nods and noises of assent and understanding, just what I like to hear and see.

“Cracking. Now all of you lot clear off, get some rest,” I said.

The team broke up. I stuck around a second, just for a quiet second to myself.

“Commander?” Came Joker’s voice and I sighed.

“If it’s not one thing it’s another…yes, Joker?”

“We’ll be hitting the first relay soon, Commander.”

“How soon is soon?” I asked.

“Little under an hour.”

Nice.

“We’re making good time,” I said.

“You say that as thought you’re surprised.”

Rising from the table I stretched, yawned, and said:

“I do, and I hope you’re deeply wounded.”

“Cut right to my brittle, cracking bones Commander.”

“Good lad.”


	14. Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right. This is a big one so let's get my excuses out of the way up front.
> 
> Ahem.
> 
> 1) This chapter is big. Could have split it but I wanted some action to come in and eh, whatever.  
> 2) I can't write action worth shit, so look forward to that.  
> 3) Prepare for some 40k shilling. There had to come a point where my bias became obvious over which universe I liked more and since this whole fic is basically 'The Rogue Trader show featuring Mass Effect' this shouldn't be a surprise.  
> 4) I'll likely going to have something happen with ME or 40k tech and their interaction that you won't like. For this I apologise in advance.  
> 5) I haven't played the Horizon mission in, like, two years and really I'm not writing a transcript of the game anyway so this is just broadstrokes. You'll notice things that are wrong. I noticed things that were wrong. I just don't really care. I am lazy.  
> 6) Oh yeah. Travel times are hella jacked. I'm not even pretending. I'll come up with a handwave but it's really just a figleaf. This wasn't a particularly serious story to start with anyway...
> 
> I think that should be it. Anyway, let's get this over with.

Following dinner, interaction between the guests and the crew of the Normandy was kept by mutual, silent consent to a bare minimum. The journey was only going to take a few days, after all.

To Shepard’s immense relief there was no ruckus. The ten armed men sitting in their big, bulky shuttle full of guns caused no trouble whatsoever. If anything they seemed pretty happy with their situation - just sitting around the hold fiddling with their guns and playing cards, though she did have to tell them not to smoke so much.

All things considered it could have been worse.

She also decided to take a personal lead in learning more. Mostly because the group setting didn’t seem to have worked out so great, but partly because she was also genuinely curious. 

Even if they all turned out to be completely full of shit - and Shepard was a little alarmed at how much she was veering away from this opinion, given the whole ‘we fell through time’ thing - the more she got out of Jarrion the more of a read she might get on the guy and on the people he had around him.

That could only be good.

So, on the second day, after Thale had been sent back to the lighter and with Loghain sitting in her top bunk thumbing through a dataslate, Shepard invited Jarrion up to her cabin for a chat.

Loghain wasn’t actually reading it the dataslate, it should be pointed out. She was just pretending so as to unsettle anyone who saw her doing it. As far jokes went it was a lot of effort for not a lot of payoff, but Loghain got bored easily.

The chat was a punt Shepard decided to take, guessing that Jarrion might be more talkative and more relaxed in an informal captain-of-a-ship-talking-to-a-captain-of-a-ship sort of a setting. She was completely right in this.

Jarrion had had amasec packed - on the off-chance there was anything that needed celebrating, commiserating or anywhere in-between - and he had the bottle brought up. Shepard found the stuff palatable, if difficult to describe exactly. 

“That’s got a kick,” she said after downing the first glass, wincing only a tiny bit as Jarrion poured out another measure.

“It does rather, doesn’t it? Picked it up on one of the worlds we were touring before this whole, ah, time adventure.”

“Touring?”

“Turn of phrase. Mostly I was flying the colours. House Croesus worlds, you see? Ones brought into the fold by my House, ready to be incorporated into the greater Imperium as and when. Lost colonies, some of them, freshly-founded in some other cases.”

“And so you were...what?”

“Assisting them if they had problems, settling issues, reminding them where their loyalty lay, that kind of thing.”

“Is that what a Rogue Trader does?”

“Ah, no. Well, maybe. It’s what I was doing. Duty to the House, you see? My father is, strictly speaking, the Rogue Trader, I’m just operating with House authority. Not that that makes me any less of a Rogue Trader, you understand!”

“Course not, Jarrion, course not. Just so I’m clear though, could you really just lay out this whole Rogue Trader thing one more time? Bottom line it for me.” 

There followed a very truncated version of House Croesus’s history, dovetailing with a better explanation of what exactly a Rogue Trader was and what Rogue Trader did. This time, Shepard actually grasped the concept, which now seemed pretty simple.

An empire in which all interstellar travel was tightly controlled, with sprawling borders and which was unable to be everywhere it needed to be would, indeed, benefit from individuals going into the places between what was mapped out to scope out useful places, find things that might have been lost and otherwise fly the flag when it wouldn’t be prudent to commit resources to what might turn out to be a complete waste of time.

Still seemed kind of arcane and unwieldy to her, having a literal piece of paper giving someone permission to go off and do this, but hell. It was the future. They did things differently there, apparently.

That, and the whole ‘Rogue Traders are allowed contact with aliens’ part being a big deal. Shepard spoke to more aliens before breakfast than most Imperial citizens were apparently liable to meet in their entire lives. Some Imperial citizens, Jarrion said, weren’t even aware aliens existed. This she found difficult to comprehend for citizens of an galaxy-spanning empire, but did not wish to press.

After that they took to talking shop in a more general sense, as it were. One heavily-armed captain of a ship to another, exchanging whichever anecdote came to find first. Shepard gave a loose rundown on what had happened on Purgatory, being as it was the most recent mission with any real combat. Jarrion lapped it up.

“Very exciting! Double crossed! Ah, mercenaries. They have their uses but really can’t be left to their own devices, poor things. Have I met this, ah, Jack? Can’t saying it’s ringing a bell.”

Shepard frowned. Come to think it she hadn’t seen Jack in a while either.

“No, I don’t think so. Almost like she got a bit forgotten about somehow. I’m sure she’ll show up soon enough now we’ve mentioned her.”

Generally how these things worked.

“She sounds quite the character,” Jarrion said, swirling his amasec around his glass.

“That is...you’re not wrong.”

For his anecdote Jarrion ran through the time fairly early towards the start of his little tour where he had had to assist a colony in eradicating a sudden outbreak of feral Orks. And sudden was the keyword, being as how at no point in the planet’s surveying or subsequent history of colonisation had Orks ever been mentioned. But now here they were, rampaging across the plains and roaring out of the jungles with spears and axes to make life miserable.

It had not been difficult, assisting, in the grand scheme of things, but it had not been fun either. By the time Jarrion had arrived with the Assertive, the attacks had already rendered much of the outlying colonial settlements into charred ruins, and put the colonists themselves on the defensive. 

Once Jarrion had armsmen on the ground though this quickly turned around. An Ork with a spear was no joke, but was much less threatening if you happened to be stood behind a heavy bolter.

Eventually the Orks were traced back to a crashed ship of theirs deep in the planet’s wilderness regions. When it had arrived and how no-one had noticed it crashing was unclear, but there it was, the obvious reason for why they were there.

Jarrion had the site purged from orbit, though he suspected that the problem would likely flair up again before too long, Orks being Orks.

Shepard, for her part, listened to the story with mounting puzzlement, being as how she’d read a fantasy book or two in her time.

“Orcs?” She asked.

“No, Orks. Disgusting beasts, get everywhere. Even these feral sort were troublesome. Rather glad we won’t be running into any around here, I must say. They are, ah, unpleasant.”

From the story she’d just heard, Shepard didn’t doubt it.

This sort of martial talk led quite naturally into a discussion about firearms, a topic that Shepard always enjoyed. Going with the flow of the conversation she briefly extolled the many virtues of her Mattock (which she loved dearly), her fervent desire to someday soon acquire a M-98 Widow (which she was certain she would also love dearly, especially now she was a cyborg death machine and so able to actually use one on her own) and then finally rounding off with unholstering and handing over her Phalanx to Jarrion so he could have a look at it.

He, in turn, responded by letting her have a look at his bolt pistol. The thing was ludicrously enormous by comparison but Shepard felt it might be rude to point that out, instead, she asked how it worked, and so Jarrion explained it.

Sounded like some sort of rocket propelled grenade-cum-gyrojet mashup to Shepard, who found the concept baffling in the sense of the whole thing just seemed unnecessarily complicated. 

The detail that particularly stuck out to her was the part where the projectiles were specifically fused to detonate inside the target. To her, that seemed perhaps just a touch more brutal than it really needed to be.

And that was coming from her. Someone who could - and had, at least once - headbutt someone to death.

From there the conversation went - fairly naturally - onto what other weapons Jarrion was carting around, specifically the ones on his ship. This was an area Shepard was low-key very interested in, and hoped her burning desire to learn more didn’t come across. Luckily for her Jarrion was always more than happy to ramble about the Assertive, so she heard a bunch.

A Dauntless class light cruiser - which the Assertive was, she learnt - had a moderately light armaments by some standards, but a definite kick that it would be wise not to underestimate. While it’s macrobatteries were sufficient if unimpressive, its lances were truly a fine and ferocious weapon.

What was a lance? A massive energy projector capable of searing through metre upon metre of armour plating before burning deep into the vulnerable guts of whatever ship happened to be unlucky enough to be targeted. A weapon designed to cripple battlecruisers. 

What sort of energy did it project for it to be able to do this? Jarrion did not know. 

Unhelpful, but at least it was something.

Shepard came away from the talk feeling, well, not any less confused and unsure about what was going on but at least better informed. Jarrion wasn’t as mysterious as all that, and while everything he did and had was built and organised along entirely different principles to everything Shepard was used to it wasn’t all that complicated, really.

Not long after this - a day, perhaps, or a few days - they arrived with FTL distance of Horizon, and started moving on in.

Time, then, for a briefing.

-

Shepard gathered her super team into the briefing room along with Jarrion, Loghain, Pak’s servo skull and a very bewildered, anxious looking armsman sergeant who was doing his best to keep as far away from all aliens present as possible.

Jarrion was already passingly familiar with everyone else there and nodded polite hellos to all, aliens included - courtesy costing nothing, after all, and also being quite valuable when one was soon to drop into a combat environment shortly.

The only one there he did not know was Jack, because Jack had been mysteriously absent up until this point and so he hadn’t had an opportunity to be introduced yet.

The reason for Jack’s absence from the welcome dinner had been due to her having slept through it, and her sudden appearance took Jarrion off-guard, mostly because he was unprepared for a woman wearing a strap to come hoving into view with no warning. 

He got over it though, and shook her hand to say hello. This Jack was not wholly cool with, but she got over that, too, mostly because Shepard mouthed at her over Jarrion’s shoulder to just bear with it.

With that out of the way the briefing could start.

“Alright,” said Shepard, moving up and laying both hands knuckle-down on the conference table. “This room’s a little more snug than it usually is but we all know why that is so let’s not waste time on that. Not long from now we are going to be putting down on Horizon. Colony world, wonderful holiday destination and next target for the Collectors, at least according to reliable information from our benefactors.”

The holographic projector was then switched on, cycling through a few establishing shots of Horizon the planet, the colony, before settling on a much more useful overview of the colony layout itself. Fairly standard stuff, at least for Shepard. Jarrion found it fascinating. 

“We have a rough idea of how Collectors operate when they come in, thanks to what we’ve pulled from the colonies that have already been hit. Communications get blacked out, ship comes down, Seekers released, drones follow and just roll everyone up. Simple process, really. What we don’t know is what happens when someone - in this case us - steps in to mess with them. We’re going to be finding out. My advice: expect the worst.”

She clicked around with some controls on her omnitool and brought up an accompanying image to sit alongside the colony map. It showed what were obviously some large guns.

“What we also know - and what’s useful for us to know - is that Horizon was recently kitted up with a bunch of GARDIAN lasers courtesy of the Alliance. Pretty unusual all things considered but hey, desperate times I guess?” 

Jarrion did not appreciate what this was talking about, but rolled with it. Lasers at least he could understand.

Shepard continued:

“In an ideal world they’ll blow the Collector ship out of the sky but I doubt we’ll be so lucky. Collectors aren’t idiots. They’ll come out of nowhere and take those guns offline somehow so they can work in peace. So the way I figure it, once we’re on the ground I say we make for those guns as quick as possible, get them back up again. As much as I like to think we can take out their ship with harsh language and stern looks I don’t want to rely on that.”

The image of the lasers disappeared again and Shepard started highlighting areas on the map.

“So here’s the plan, just so we’re all clear: me and my team is coming down on this side of the colony here. Jarrion, your lot go the other side. Once we’re all down we both move into the colony proper, take out any Collectors we run into, try to avoid getting killed or paralysed, locate the GARDIAN controls and get them up and running. Boom, job done. Simple, eh?”

Most plans were simple at first. Problems typically happened once things got going. As far as simple went though this plan was wonderful.

Shepard looked around for questions but none were immediately forthcoming. Then she remembered something, snapping her fingers.

“Oh yes, which reminds me: Seekers. Kind of an issue. I need to explain this to you guys.”

This she directed specifically to Jarrion, who blinked.

“Hmm? Commander?” He asked, pleasantly enough.

“Technical detail of the mission. My team know what it is, but you don’t. Come with me. Mordin? You too. Everyone else go check your gear - Joker? How long we got?”

“About two hours, Commander,” said a voice from above.

“Right, you heard the man, go get ready.”

Shepard left the room at speed, Mordin following and with Jarrion and Loghain bringing up the rear, servo skull bobbing behind them. The armsman sergeant went back to the cargo bay as quickly as possible to relay what he’d learnt of the mission to the rest of the squad and also to get away from the aliens. 

In short order Shepard et al filed into the lab, Jarrion and his lot taking up position on one side while the Commander and Mordin went to the other. Between them was the laboratory work bench, covered with various bits of apparatus and other assorted scientific bric a brac but, mainly, occupied by a big case in which was bouncing and bobbing around an unpleasant insectile creature. 

“And this would be a Seeker. Not sure how we got it but there it is. These things are a problem but, hopefully, one with a solution. Right, Mordin?” Shepard asked, her arms folded.

Mordin, busy with a console, just nodded.

“Delightful,” Jarrion said, looking at the thing with distaste.

“Basically, the Collectors just release hods of these things, they swarm out, sting everyone, everyone locks up, the drones come out to just roll everyone up. Pretty effective, really. Not something we really want to have to come up against, ideally. Hence countermeasure, yes?”

Again she looked to Mordin who, still busy, didn’t even hear that time.

Jarrion looked at the Seeker again, and found it repugnant. Loghain was also looking at it - for a given value of ‘looking’ - but her expression suggested she wasn’t so much disgusted as thinking through something. She appeared to be concentrating,.

“Can I try something?” She asked, out of nowhere. Shepard glanced to her.

“Uh, possibly. What did you have in mind?”

“Some psyker jiggery-pokery, no doubt,” Jarrion said, earning himself a sideways, overly-sweet smile from Loghain.

“You know me so well,” Loghain said.

Shepard was none the wiser, and could almost feel the conversation again slipping into areas she was entirely in the dark about.

“Psyker?”

“Ah, yes. Our esteemed colleague Loghain here is a psyker on top of being an Inquisitor,” Jarrion said pleasantly. Shepard remained none the wiser. For the sake of clarity she clarified thusly:

“When I said ‘psyker’ I should probably have been more direct and asked: ‘What does that mean’?”

Jarrion was beginning to lose track of what he had and hadn’t explained to Shepard at this point, and of which concepts had only been mentioned but not delved into. Psykers were clearly one of those things that had not been covered in detail yet.

There really was an awful lot to unpack.

“Oh sorry, I quite forgot. Psykers are, well, psychics. Individuals with, ah, abilities?”

Jarrion really wasn’t sure where he could even start. Shepard had at least heard of psychic powers though, in the context of fiction, obviously, and so latched onto this pretty quickly.

“Psychic powers? What, like mind reading? Telekinesis?” She asked, not even bothering to be outraged at this latest revelation about her guests.

Psychic powers sure, cool. Why not, given the way things were going? In for a penny, right?

“Just the telepathy, I’m afraid,” Loghain said, still peering intently at the Seeker in its box, continuing to buzz around.

“That so? What am I thinking, then?” Shepard asked.

Always the first thing anyone asked. Loghain had long-since stopped seeing the funny side, but rolled with it anyway and didn’t let her irritation show. Instead, she just cocked her head a little, still not looking away from the Seeker.

“You’re thinking you don’t believe me.”

“Uncanny,” Shepard said, flatly.

Now Loghain turned, straightening up.

“I could probe further, if you wanted convincing. That sort of thing is typically considered rude without consent,” she said.

Off to the side Jarrion made strangled sound on hearing an Inquisitor use the word ‘consent’, having to hammer his chest with a fist to keep from choking. This was ignored.

“Well consider this consent. I’m curious now,” Shepard said.

Loghain smiled in that very particular way of hers. This time though it didn’t seem to reach her eyes. Or, rather, where her eyes should have been,

“If you’re sure, Commander. You may want to sit down.”

“I’m good,” Shepard said, folding her arms. Loghain just shrugged and stepped in closer to her.

Shepard did wonder what was going to happen, if anything. Would there be hand movements? Chanting? Some sort of beam of energy? Nothing at all?

She did her best not to just stare Loghain in the eyesockets. It felt like a rude thing to do, and also they really were quite unsettling to look at, especially up-close. Those eyes had clearly not left her head quietly or gently. 

Loghain, for her part, had gone very quiet.

The temperature dropped. Not horrendously, and not throughout the whole room, but just enough for Shepard to notice and for her to shiver. And once she’d finished shivering, she noticed also that the cold seemed to really be focusing on some spot in the middle of her skull.

“What the-” she had time to say before that little spot of cold wriggled, and her eyes widened. That wasn’t normal.

“A few details. Bit of a gap. Ah, you really were spaced? That wasn’t much fun, was it? But that’s nothing you haven’t already mentioned. Let’s go a little further,” Loghain said, quietly.

The cold spot got fractionally bigger. Shepard gritted her teeth. Mordin - who had started watching at this point - made to move in but Shepard raised a hand and stopped him in place.

“Elysium, hmm? You did very well there, so it seems. Ah, but not quite well enough, you think? Could have done better? We all think that, don’t we? When we cast our minds back? I wouldn’t worry about it. Things would have been very different had you not been there, and you know that. And now I know that, too. See how this works?”

“You-”

“You did do well, didn’t you? Ah, I can see why they made you a Spectre, certainly. First human Spectre, no less. Quite the historical event. An awful lot of important events do seem to turn around you, don’t they? Saren, Citadel...Reapers? Hmm. There’s a lot here. Very interesting...”

“Could you-”

“Outside interference, too. Bit of a mess. Some sort of artefact left its mark here, I can see that. Very confusing. Xenos artefact. Tsch, always tricky. You should be more careful, Commander.”

Loghain then took a step back and the cold spot vanished, though the temperature around Shepard - and in the greater room, the drop having spread - did not immediately rise again. Shepard, whose whole body had tensed up, released the tension and very nearly flopped to the floor, just about managing to stop herself in time through sheer force of will.

“I could go further, but I think you get the idea,” Loghain said.

Garrus, Miranda and Jacob appeared at this point in a state of some agitation. EDI had informed them - not just them specifically, but the crew in a general sense and they’d been the first to respond - of an anomalous drop in temperature coming from the laboratory. Suspecting the worst, they had rushed there with all haste and also with guns. 

They were holding these guns as they entered, and on seeing Shepard sagging looked set to start aggressively asking for some answers. Shepard held up a hand though, and stopped them.

“It’s alright, it’s alright. I brought that on myself,” She said, steadying herself. Once she’d done that, she looked up to Loghain, who was still fucking smirking. “You weren’t kidding, then?”

“Sorry if I ever gave the impression I was. I suppose being unfamiliar with psykers it’s only natural you might be skeptical. Are there really none at this time?” Loghain asked, taking that whole ‘time travel’ thing for granted, either for ease or for comedic effect.

Of course, having been inside Shepard’s head, Loghain knew the answer but it was polite to ask all the same, she felt. Shepard rubbed her temples.

“Can’t say I’ve ever bumped into one before now, no.”

“Consider yourself lucky,” Jarrion said, quietly, flicking a spot of frost off his armoured forearm. He’d been stood too close to Loghain.

“Can they all do stuff like that?” Shepard asked.

“Some can do much worse,” Jarrion said, and Loghain did not dispute it. Because he wasn’t wrong.

That was another of those ominous statements Shepard didn’t really want to probe too deeply, like the distinction between cleansing a planet and blowing it up. She looked to Loghain again.

“I imagine that trick of yours comes in handy,” she said.

“In my line of work? Maybe once or twice.”

By this point Shepard was beginning to sympathise with the level of antipathy towards Loghain she had picked up coming from Jarrion during their first meeting. She could get it, now. But professional courtesy was still important.

“Anyway. You were saying you wanted to try something?” Shepard asked. Loghain took a second to realise what it was the Commander was talking about.

“I’d quite forgotten about that, yes. If you don’t mind - ?” She asked, gesturing to the case and the Seeker within.

“Be my guest.”

Loghain moved back to the case and bent down again, bringing her face almost level with the little thing, still buzzing around without a care in the world. The temperature, which had been climbing, dipped a little, but not much.

“It has a mind, this thing. A crude one, a simple one, but still a mind nonetheless. And the wonderful thing about minds - particularly simple ones - is that they can only take so much strain…”

The seeker started to bob in the air more erratically, jerking around so much it started to bang off the side of the case, across which more frost was forming. Then it stopped, shivering so much it almost seemed to be vibrating, just for a second or so.

And the seeker then dropped out of the air, plainly stone dead.

“Fancy that,” Loghain said, standing up.

“That’s handy. If they send one of those at us I’ll be sure to stand behind you,” Jarrion said.

Shepard was frowning at the dead Seeker. She looked over to Mordin, who was kind of unreadable about everything that had just happened.

“You didn’t need that, did you?” She asked.

Mordin was perfectly still for a moment, then, as if nothing had happened, moved back across the lab and started working on another console.

“Countermeasure already ready for deployment, as stated. Refinement possible but unlikely in time available. Seeker surplus, though possibly required in future for improvements.”

“That’s lucky. We’ll pick you up another one,” Shepard said.

Meanwhile, Jarrion and Loghain were still having their quiet little conversation:

“You made all that look very easy,” Jarrion said, nudging his chin towards the dead Seeker.

“That’s because it was. The Warp is so calm and still I must admit that I feel quite flush with power. I could probably kill you by looking at you especially hard. Were I so inclined.”

“Colour me reassured.”

“You should be. I should easily be able to repel these creatures, should they be set on us while on the surface.”

This genuinely surprised Jarrion, who had been quietly wondering what the point of the whole demonstration was. He’d just sort of thought Loghain had been showing off. 

“Really?” He asked, and she nodded.

“Really. Or don’t you trust me?” Loghain asked sweetly, hands clasped before her. This was a deeply disturbing thing to both see and hear. Jarion did not immediately respond because he took a few seconds to both recover and also to look at the Inquisitor with intense doubt.

“You can’t tell but right now I am looking at you with intense doubt,” he said.

“Oh, I can tell. Rest assured though Lord Captain - you’ll never be in safer hands than mine.”

Loghain held up her hands to illustrate this point. For some reason. It didn’t add a whole lot, and Jarrion felt himself become even less reassured. He had to turn away.

“Perhaps I should shoot myself now and save myself the bother of the journey down...”

-

With all of that excitement resolved it was down to the cargo bay for final checks and loading up. Jarrion had politely insisted on declining Mordin’s countermeasure, assuring Shepard at length that they had the matter well in hand and would be fine.

This was naturally because Jarrion would be damned if he was trusting the safety of himself or his crew to the concoction of some alien scientist. Even as much as he didn’t trust Loghain he trusted the Inquisition more than he trusted xenos. Rocks and hard places had rarely looked so uninviting.

He put it more delicately to Shepard though, of course, who mentally prepared herself for writing off a whole half of the mission as and when Jarrion and his lot got taken out by Seekers. Prepare for the worst and all that. She was confident they could accomplish the mission if it came to that, and so wasn’t especially worried.

It could cause problems, sure, but those were future problems and could be dealt with as and when. Assuming they even came up at all. Fingers crossed.

Jarrion had not seen Shepard in her armour before and had to admit that it definitely suited her a lot more than not being in armour. Just the way she carried herself. 

He, of course, was back looking how he’d looked when he’d first arrived - armoured up, jacket on, sword and pistol on his hip and ready for anything. He swaggered on over for a final chat whilst throughout the hold equipment was checked and rechecked and preparations made to head on down.

“Your lads solid on the plan?” Shepard asked, not looking up from checking her weaponry as Jarrion came on over.

“Oh yes, fully clear. Don’t worry about us, Commander.”

“Good, glad to hear it.”

This business-like brusqueness rather took the wind out of Jarrion’s efforts at small talk. He persevered though, casting his eye around for something else to comment on and spotting Jacob and Miranda off to one side. To his surprise they were still wearing whatever it was they’d been wearing the whole time they’d been on board. Which is to say, not armour.

“Aren’t your, uh, are those two not wearing armour?” Jarrion asked, nodding his head towards them. Shepeard looked up and over and got what ti was he was talking about before returning her attention to her Mattock, which she loved.

“I know, right? I’d insist but they figure kinetic barriers are enough and I’m just in charge and a decorated veteran and someone they spent billions of credits bringing back from the dead so what do I know?”

Miranda and Jacob’s ears must have been burning because they chose this moment to look up and over, perplexed. Shepard waved.

“Don’t come crying to me when you get shot,” she said under her breath, smiling.

“Kinetic barriers, you said?” Jarrion asked, having latched onto this bit.

“Yes?”

“Suggests that they are only effective against projectiles?”

Shepard gave him an odd look. This wasn’t new.

“Yes? You worried about lasers or something?”

“Are these barriers widespread? As a defensive measure?” 

“Pretty popular, yes. I feel like I’m missing something here.”

“Just learning more about where I find myself,” said Jarrion.

These sorts of pedantic details could be quite important, in his experience.

“Huh, right.” Shepard said. Then feeling it was her turn to ask a question and seeing Jarrion’s squad of guys all huddling down on one knee in a circle for no obvious reason she pointed over and asked: “What are they doing?”

“Hmm, oh, praying. I believe the corporal is leading the prayers there, from the looks of things. A fine habit.”

“Praying to the, uh, God Emperor, was it?”

“Primarily. I can’t speak for my armsmen, of course, but the Emperor foremost. Possibly some Saints too for blessing and protection. And for the Machine Spirits of their equipment, given they’ll be relying on them soon. Very wise.”

Jarrion was suddenly struck by the awkward realisation that he hadn’t done anything so pious recently. He’d just been rather busy and it had slipped his mind, but now he felt exposed and unworthy. Hopefully he’d have enough time after this conversation was over for a small prayer and maybe have Pak appoint his weapons, if possible. Just to be on the safe side.

Shepard looked at Jarrion sideways and could see that he was in no-way joking.

“You’re really serious about this God Emperor thing, aren’t you?”

Jarrion turned and looked at her, and saw that she too was in no-way joking.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Have you ever seen him?”

Jarrion bit his tongue. He could see where this was going and even the insinuation turned his stomach.

“I don’t mean to be rude, Commander, but I’d rather not have a discussion about this if it’s all the same to you.”

From his tone and suddenly very, very rigid body language Shepard could tell that while she perhaps had not crossed a line she had started approaching one.

“Wasn’t implying anything Jarrion, honestly. I’m just curious, honestly. Why wouldn’t I be?”

This kind of deliberate repurposing of what you’d been saying before and turning it around to make it seem as though you’d been saying the exact opposite was masterfully done stuff. Shepeard was clearly a woman with the gift of the gab. Had he been less-used to talking to people Jarrion might even have believed it.

Jarrion sighed. As much as he could see this subject might be a thorny or a messy one he was loathe to pass up an opportunity to enjoy the sound of his own voice. He caved:

“I’m hardly a theologian. Though, really, if I was that probably wouldn’t help you either. There’s a cult for everyone. Some of the variants I saw not even that long ago while touring the colonies and flying the colours, for example. Emperor as benevolent harvest father, Emperor as the stars themselves and able to peer into the minds of men, etcetera, etcetera. It’s varied.”

“Obviously.”

“Look, I’m not really the right person to ask. As and when the Assertive arrives I’m sure I could find a member of the Ecclersiarchy to answer any questions you might have - there’s more than a handful on board for the crew’s spiritual needs.”

Given that Shepard had at most an idle curiosity on the subject, the prospect of having a member of some clerical body set on her was not one she relished.

“No, I think I’ll be fine,” she said, hastily.

Jarrion felt it best to conclude now.

“Ultimately, the God Emperor is, well, a God. What sort of God probably depends on your upbringing but a God he is and that is that. As long as you hold to that you can’t go far wrong,” he said, adding emphatically: “That he sits on the Golden Throne guiding and protecting humanity is a fact. Everything else after that is, well, let’s say cultural.”

“So what sort of God do you see him as, then?”

“Me? Oh I don’t know. I just think he wants us to prosper, that’s all.”

“That’s very broad.”

“I did say I’m not a theologian. The clergy can argue about the details, I just know that I have a role to play out for Him, and I am going to do so to the best of my ability for His glory and for the glory of His Imperium.”

“Good for you, Jarrion,” said Shepard, who honestly could not think of a single other thing to say in response to this sentence. Jarrion smiled and clapped her on the shoulder.

“It is, rather. Now if you excuse me seeing the men’s piety has reminded me that I’ve been somewhat lax in the same regard. I’ll pray for you too, if you like. The Emperor protects, you see?”

“Uh, sure, thanks. Even here though? The past and all.”

Again, playing along with the time travel thing. At this point what could Shepard lose by pretending otherwise? She’d had her mind read earlier. Reality was plainly out to lunch.

Jarrion just kept on smiling.

“Everywhere, Commander. His reach knows no limits. And apparently his servants are pushing the limits, too! Be seeing you on the surface.”

Quite unprompted he made the sign of the Acquilla across his chest, and Shepard did not understand what it meant.

-

What with their shuttle blocking the cargo bay, Jarrion and his lot had to be the first ones out. I watched them all load up and watched them back up and out, again scratching up the inside of my ship. Really hope we can fix those.

“I still don’t like this,” said Garrus.

“Not a fan of our guests?” I asked and he shrugged.

“It’s all just to convenient. And strange. Two ships bumping into each other by accident? In space? In orbit? Language issues? Tech that’s nothing like anything we’ve seen before? Nothing about this seems right to me,” he said.

Adding, after a moment’s consideration:

“And they’re racists. Not the warmest or fuzziest of character traits.”

“Yeah well. Can’t argue with that,” I said.

“You learn anything else from him?” Jacob asked.

“From Jarrion? Oh yeah, heaps. All insane, obviously. Well, all just unreasonable. You know they weren’t kidding about the God Emperor, right? He is literally a god. Or they worship him like one, at least.”

“Kind of hard to believe they’d carry that sort of thing forward into the future. Assuming they even come from the future. Ugh, kind of hard to believe I’m taking that seriously…” Miranda grumbled, rubbing her face.

“I had my mind read today, apparently. At this point I’m willing to suspend my disbelief a little. And right now who cares, really? We’ve got other shit to worry about. Let’s just focus on getting through without getting killed and then worry about all this nonsense when we get back. Alright?”

No-one argued with this.

-

It was a short but bumpy ride to the surface of Horizon.

Knowing the importance of such things, Jarrion was the first one off the lighter the moment the ramp was down, sword in hand and bolt pistol firing the instant he spotted a Collector. The Collectors, bewildered, had approached the craft with weapons raised, though were still caught off-guard when humans came out immediately shooting. They just hadn’t expected it.

“For the Emperor!” Jarrion shouted, striding forward with confidence and also in the direction of the nearest cover. His men followed close behind, as did Loghain.

Every bolt that struck home was a kill shot, the sheer mass of the rounds punching through the drones’ ablating armour to blow away limbs or heads, dropping aliens left and right. Invigorating stuff. Jarrion had rather worried he’d lost his touch.

It was much more natural to be shooting at the aliens than eating dinner with him, Jarrion had to admit. For all of his understanding of the need for tact and delicacy he was still an Emperor-fearing citizen of the Imperium. The revulsion he felt on even looking at an alien would never go away, and as well it shouldn’t.

Similarly, the delight on watching that split-second between a bolt striking an alien in the head and that head then disappearing would never go away either, for which Jarrion could only be grateful. It never got old.

Crisp burts of lasfire knocked down more drones as the armsmen split up to get into cover and flank. The drones who found themselves in the line of fire were understandably alarmed. Their barriers proved no help at all and their armour - sensibly designed with repelling mass-accelerated rounds in mind - turned out to be rather too moist to react comfortably to the sort of sudden, violent changes in temperature a laser typically introduced.

The bony plates were solid, yes, the muscular underlay was not. Many drones were caught completely off-guard before they, almost as one, moved to covers as well. This really helped them cut down on being shot.

Every so often there’d be the hiss-slap-boom of Rolf - the armsman carrying the plasmagun - using it to destroy any substantially hard cover the aliens were using to hide behind, having now recovered from their immediate surprise enough to do so.

Hiss-slap-being rather what Jarrion had always only ever been able to hear plasma fire as. The hiss of the bolt slashing through the air, the slap of it hitting the target and splattering, the boom of whatever it was detonating from the sudden dump of kinetic force and horrendous, immediate temperature change. He did like that sound.

What return fire there was was confused and desoultary. It seemed as though the Collectors had not expected to find humans coming at them from this end of the colony, and certainly seemed like they had very little idea what to make of Jarrion and his entourage. The rounds from their rifles, when they did find a target, found the plasteel and ceramite of the armsmen carapace unyielding, ricocheting off harmlessly.

Initial impression seemed horribly unfair, as far as Jarrion could see. 

A handful of minutes after the Imperials had landed and cut a swathe through what drones they’d found the Collectors pulled back, as one. To cover their retreat they sent in Husks. 

Seemingly out of nowhere dozens of naked human bodies shot-through with glowing circuitry appeared, flopping off of roofs and crawling out from beneath hab blocks before running, screaming at Jarrion and his team.

Jarrion’s team responded by shooting the Husks, which worked well. It was only the sheer number of the things and their utter indifference to the firepower into which they were running that presented an obstacle. Once one Husk got within melee range that was one less gun firing, which meant the others had a much easier time of it.

Gunfire was replaced with shouting and cursing as the armsmen struggled to keep the screeching Husks at bay. Combat knives were drawn and skulls stoved in with lascarbine butts. Jarrion found himself right in the centre of the fray and put his sword to very good use, impaling bodies and lopping off limbs with abandon as armsmen produced combat knives and drove them through skulls.

One Husk seemed to want to do something spectacular with electricity, but got shot through the back of the head before it got the chance. Probably just as well.

By the time the heavy bolter had been set up most of the Husks had already been put down, though it certainly helped in ensuring that no more made it close enough to pose a problem. Not that it mattered. They’d done what they’d been sent to do, which was chew up time. There was no sign of anymore drones. At least not right at that second.

Jarrion took a moment to catch his breath, during which time he had a good, long look at the decapitated, still-twitching body of the one of the Husks. 

Not that he knew what they were called, obviously. But that’s what it was.

Was this the fate of the colonists? Was this what the xenos had planned? To defile the holy form and shape of humanity with their alien technology? To turn honest, earnest - well, not Imperial citizens, but humans all the same - settlers into slaves? Weapons to be set loose?

Blasphemy! An abomination! Jarrion felt bile rising in his throat.

What better evidence of the loathsome nature of aliens than this? 

“Oh I’m quite upset,” he said with far more restraint than he felt.

Of course he’d heard of worse. Seen worse too, once or twice. Still, one never got fully use to the cold, hard reality of it when coming face-to-face with such vile work. 

He was reminded of one of the earlier colonies he’d visited, which had been experiencing a pirate problem. Xenos pirates, specifically, with a fine line in selling humans as slaves. 

Their modus operandi in this had been to swoop in from their hidden location on-planet, snatch up the population of an isolated settlement, subject their captives to a foul fungal concoction that served to rot away higher brain functions and leave the poor wretched souls as little more than drooling animals capable of just about performing simple, menial tasks, thence to be sold off-world

A ghastly business. And so inefficient! What could their margins have been to make such a business even close to profitable? Jarrion imagined it must have been motivated mostly by spite, aliens being aliens, and partly by commercial ignorance, aliens being aliens. 

Aliens in this instance being both malicious and stupid, obviously.

After being briefed by the colony’s governing council he had located the pirate’s vessel in-system, destroyed it, and then tracked them to their lair on the planet itself, had all of its subsidiary exits sealed, parked himself and a lot of angry men with a lot of guns outside the one remaining exit and then had the whole lair filled with gas.

Results following this were predictable and satisfying. No survivors.

Of course all of the human ‘stock’ that the xenos had had on hand had been beyond saving, and so had received the Emperor’s mercy. An unfortunate coda to the whole business, really, but there had been nothing else to do for them.

Thinking about it now Jarrion rather saw some parallels between those xenos - now gloriously deceased - and the Collectors. Funny how things worked out, he thought.

All of which was nice, but not a lot of use right at that moment. Jarrion stopped daydreaming when he caught a bit of movement out the corner of his eye and noticed a single drone, its legs shot off at the knees, weakly crawling between some crates, heading who-knew-where.

“I think now,” Jarrion said, striding over bolt pistol in hand.

He was stopped from finishing the thing off thought by Loghain, who appeared at his side almost as if from nowhere, and gently but firmly pushed his gun-hand down.

“I’m sure you have a good reason for doing that?” He asked her.

“I can make use of this,” she said.

“What? This?” Jarrion asked, nodding to the drone, which was still doing its best to get away but not exactly going anywhere fast. Loghain squatted down beside it.

“Know the alien, the better to kill it,” she said. 

“Going to have a chat with it? They didn’t strike me as the talkative sort,” Jarrion said. But then he got what it was she was actually referring to and suddenly felt a little bilious. Loghain, who could see the wheels working in Jarrion’s head even without having to look inside, was smirking up at him. 

Since she had a helmet on though the effect was somewhat blunted. Jarrion cleared his throat and had to look away.

“Well yes, obviously, but still! There have to be limits, don’t there? That sort of...contact can’t be good.”

“I have experience,” Loghain said, gesturing off to a nearby clutch of very dead Seekers.

“Those little things hardly count!”

“I wasn’t talking about those.”

That put the wind up Jarrion.

“Oh. Well. If you’re quite sure. Carry on. Just keep it quick,” he said, drifting over to the nearest armsman and saying over a secured comm-to-comm channel: “Keep an eye on her. If she starts acting funny just maybe shoot her in the knee.”

“Lord Captain,” said the armsman, nodding. 

“Rest of you, check for injuries and watch the perimeter. Now would be a very bad time to be counter-attacked.”

A perimeter was duly set up while Loghain got to work, kicking the drone over and squatting down beside it, holding a hand out over its face.

“Here I come…” she said, under her breath.

The drone’s back arched. It juddered, emitted the most horrendous whining sound which abruptly cut off with a frothy gurgle. Loghain pressed her palm down a little closer and the alien jolted violently, head smacking against the ground. Jarrion wasn’t enjoying watching this, though he wasn’t sure why.

“Fascinating. The mind of this creature has been, hmm, the best word would have to be butchered,” Loghain said, moving her hand minutely and producing a corresponding twist and crunch from the drone, which contorted.

“What?” Jarrion asked.

“Yesss. Whatever it was was hacked and chopped and sliced away, remade into something - something! - by an outside force. A whole species! My, that is something.”

Loghain leaned in closer and the drone’s back arched more violently, cracking, the thing starting to bend in two, frost forming across its armour, thick ichor leaking from reopened wounds in fresh rivulets.

“Something very old, it seems. Something this race had been familiar with? Fighting? Hmm. Difficult to make out. Distant impressions, mostly forgotten, just scraps. Hardly matters now though, does it? Ah, but look what’s happened to you. Such a shame.”

Loghain then straightened up and turned to Jarrion, all the tension that had built up in the drone releasing so it just flopped out, limp but still alive. Just.

“A catspaw, nothing more. Quite interesting, don’t you think?” Loghain asked, grinning behind the faceplate of her helmet. Jarrion guessed that she was grinning. He could feel it coming off her in waves.

“I’m quite agog,” Jarrion said, flatly. “Can you tell me anything else? Something useful, perhaps?”

“No, not really. What little is there is patchy. I don’t think whatever did it was especially concerned for the wellbeing of its subjects. Just concerned with making a useful tool,” she said.

Aliens being aliens, in this instance to other, apparently lesser aliens. Hardly a surprise, and hardly the most interesting thing Jarrion had ever come across. He made a mental note of the information and then more-or-less forgot he’d heard it.

“Wonderful. Let’s continue, shall we? I take it you’re done with this?” Jarrion asked, gesturing to the twitching, bleeding, frost-crackling drone with his bolt pistol. Loghain looked down at the thing as though she’d quite forgotten it was there at all.

“Oh, yes,” she said, so Jarrion shot it through the face.

This the squad took - rightly - as a signal to be ready to receive fresh orders.

What minor injuries there had been had been seen to. Carapace was proof against all direct hits, it seemed, but bruises were abundant and those few shots that had struck the flak underwear of the suits had required attention and repair. All seen to now though, as said, and everyone remained entirely combat-ready.

A very good start, all things considered. Surprise will do that.

After performing a brief check of his clip and deciding that reloading could wait, Jarrion turned and said:

“Solid work, team - let’s continue and continue with extreme prejudice. Whatever their motivations or origins my orders to you are clear: every xenos we encounter is going to die immediately. I am not a fan of these ones.”

Pak - who had spent the duration of the firefight wandering around in the background examining what technology they could get their mechadendrites on while occasionally letting their shoulder-mounted weapon gun down any drone who dared bother them, stray shots bouncing harmlessly from their armour without so much as making them flinch - let out a brief burst of static and Jarrion squinted at them in disbelief.

“You want one kept alive as well?” He asked, having got more-or-less the gist of what the static had been trying to communicate. Pak nodded.

“Emperor’s teeth Pak, why?”

Pak said nothing to this. It was only then Jarrion noticed the spindly, spiky tip of one of the Magos’ mechadendrites and noticed that it was dripping with the ichor that tended to spray out of the drone whenever they burst open.

Ah. Right. Live subjects.

“Does it have to be in one piece?” Jarrion asked.

Pak shrugged. This had been an odd looking gesture for a magos before, but in full-armour it bordered on the ridiculous. Jarrion did his best not to roll his eyes, even if he did have his helmet on. Something told him Pak would pick up on it anyway.

“Try and keep one mostly alive for Pak. The rest you can kill. Now, let’s press forward! Doesn’t sound as if the Commander’s lollygagging, does it?”

Indeed, it did not. The sound of gunfire from the opposite side of the colony had been more-or-less constant, and was obviously getting closer, too, Shepard’s team making good progress to the objective.

Jarrion then added:

“Oh yes, and to clarify: the aliens the Commander has with her are exempt from being killed. Try not to shoot them if you can help it.”

And on they pressed.

-

Things did not stay quite so easy, sadly.

The Collectors recovered from the shock of Jarrion and his men appearing - something that had not been part of the plan - with remarkable speed, capably splitting what assets they had on hand and throwing everything more-or-less equally at Shepard and at Jarrion, though they seemed to take a particular interest in Shepard, treating Jarrion and his men more as something they needed to slow down, at best.

Husks boiled out of every crevice, coming in screaming and flailing to be gunned down by the advancing armsmen, throwing themselves into the teeth of the lasfire coming their way, heedless of losses. Thale in particular gave very good account of himself, his hellgun blasting holes clean through anything unlucky enough to wind up in his sights. So powerful was the beam, in fact, that Thale inflicted an alarming level of damage to whatever happened to be immediately behind his targets.

Noticing this, he dialled it down a notch. No sense in wasting power, after all.

Drones, too, moved in, buzzing up onto the rooftops of the surrounding hab structures in an effort to keep control of the higher ground and keep the Imperials pinned down. One or two drones were found to be carrying a weapon - a particle beam of some kind - that turned out to be capable of breaching carapace, as one unlucky armsman found out to his cost, finding himself very nearly disembowelled when caught hopping between two waist-high objects.

“Get that man into cover and get him back together!” Jarrion bellowed, standing in the open, refractor field flickering as shots fizzled against it, his bolt pistol raised as he picked drones off the rooftops.

Screaming, the man was duly hauled behind something solid where his guts were shoved inside him, where they belonged. 

There were also Seekers. Not a lot, but they did appear. Fortunately, Loghain turned out to be just as good as her word and any Seekers that approached the squad too closely dropped dead on the spot, thunking to the ground and posing no threat whatsoever.

“And you doubted me,” she’d said to Jarrion.

“Never for a second,” he’s said, agog, before turning smartly and with two precise swipes of his power sword neatly slicing both arms off a drone that had been moving in behind him. It was difficult to tell, but he imagined that the thing found this turn of events surprising.

Giving the now-maimed alien a kick and sending it toppling over backwards he yelled:

“Hah! That’s one for you, Pak!”

Still, they were making progress. Yard by yard and building by building they moved towards the centre of the colony, where they were supposed to be meeting up with Shepard. Even the nearly-gutted man was still technically combat ready, even if his aim was impaired by the sheer amount of stims he’d had to be dosed with to stay upright.

He’d be okay. For the time being.

Much to their chagrin the Collectors were having to adjust their plans, divert far more resources to stopping these unforeseen elements. Somewhere, an unseen force was starting to be what lesser beings might recognise as annoyed, verging on the upset. Not that anyone on Horizon knew this, of course.

“Next courtyard over, lads! Almost there!” Jarrion yelled out after briefly checking the map he’d loaded into his armour’s wrist-mounted dataslate. He checked the chronometer too. They’d made good time.

Amidst the various drones and snarling husks a lumbering, swollen brute of a monster came stomping around the corner. Evidently, it was another of the foul xenos’ creations, another twisted form that had once been a human. Or, from the looks of things, several.

If you’re going to turn one person into a monster, why not really go for it and use more?

“Rolf! Big chap!” Jarrion shouted, pointing. Rolf looked over and nodded acknowledgement, taking quick aiming and firing off a maximally powered shot, just to be sure.

The thing was blown apart, what stinking fluid that hadn’t vapourised from the plasma spraying wetly across the grass and the walls of nearby habs. For a few seconds its legs tottered about the place before they collapsed.

“Capital work, Rolf! Eyes on more!”

And indeed there were more, stomping out, raising lumpen and misshapen arms. Rolf, still firing, killed one but one of the others managed to get a shot off. A strange, thumping surge of energy went thundering forth, seeming to just roll over anything in its path and rather painfully break the leg of an armsmen who had been taking over. Swearing, the man went down.

The big brute responsible for this did not get to enjoy this success for very long, as mere seconds after this it too exploded as Rolf found his mark. Its friend, too. Turned out being big and burly just meant that you got to stand around like a big, fat target and when your armour turned out not to be as tough as you thought it because someone had brought a gun that made a mockery of it, well...

These things happen.

In doing this though Rolf was, perhaps, overenthusiastic. Rolf, perhaps, let his excitement get the better of his caution and his training. Certainly, he seemed to forget that it was a plasma gun he was so gleefully firing.

He did not notice the rising whine that it was making, or the way in which it was glowing brighter with every shot. It came as a surprise to him, therefore, when that whining reached a sudden, violent pitch and all that built-up heat catastrophically vented. Right back at him.

The noises Rolf made were memorable, to say the least.

They were also loud enough - along with the very distinctive sound of the catastrophic venting - to catch the augmented ear of Pak, who came walking clean through the wall of the hab unit they’d been poking around in while everyone else had been shooting aliens. There had been a door, but that would have taken too long.

Scanning a keen eye across the scene Pak immediately sighted the writhing, wailing Rolf and the sizzling-hot plasma gun and started heading on over at once, heedless of everything and anything that might have been in the way.

This did not go unnoticed. Drones peeled off to intercept. This Pak noticed, idly.

The gun that had replaced Pak’s arm came up and with a ripping, tearing, buzzing roar a beam sliced from the muzzle and struck one of the oncoming drones which immediately burst into flames so violently the fire engulfed its fellows standing too close and they stumbled aside.

Flailing, discharging its own gun wildly and taking out one of its flame-licked allies in the process, the thing keeled over into a burning heap on the ground, collapsing in on itself and then lying still.

Pak had not broken stride.

The Magos walked through the crossfire as though it wasn’t even there, shots both stray and aimed rattling harmlessly from their armour, ignored like raindrops. They headed straight for the stricken armsman, catching a charging husk by the throat, snapping its neck and hurling the now-limp body aside. Again, this did not slow Pak down in the slightest.

Mechandendrites extended while the shoulder-mounted gun continued to fire on its own, Pak reached out for the plasma gun, still venting as it was, though now less violently.

Rolf’s agonised wails increased sharply in pitch as Pak pulled the gun from his melted hands, taking a significant portion of said hands along for the ride. Not that Pak appeared to pay the man much heed, nudging him out of the way with an armoured boot while they turned the plasma gun over in their grip, examining it closely for signs of damage.

A drone came buzzing in to land behind Pak only to be unceremoniously gunned down by the Magos’ shoulder-mounted cannon, which barely paused before firing again at fresh targets. Pak hadn’t so much as flinched, so engrossed were they in checking over the plasma gun.

Once satisfied that the overheated weapon was not unduly harmed only then did Pak look at the man who had been firing it. Rolf - reduced now to piteous mewling - was duly hefted up in a fireman’s carry as Pak casually strolled through the middle of the firefight to deposit the wounded armsman at the feet of the increasingly beleguard medic, Havel, who sighed and got to work doing what he could.

Disappointment was around the corner though as Jarrion was surprised to find that in the next courtyard there was no sign of Shepard. No sign of anything, in fact. The place was deserted.

“That’s odd,” Jarrion said, frowning inside his helmet. There was still the sound of furious gunfire coming from somewhere, though what with the surrounding buildings it was difficult to tell where. Had the Commander been held up? Had a situation arisen that had caused her to divert?

It was at this point Jarrion regretted not having established some sort of communication protocol with the Commander. Everyone makes mistakes.

“Pak, if you’d be so kind would you mind just sending your servo skull upward to have a little look around? See if we can spot the Commander?”

Pak gave a single nod and their servo skull obligingly zipped upwards, disappearing over the buildings. This gave them a quiet few moments to reload, check minor wounds and also enjoy the drugged-up whimpering of Rolf, who was going to need new hands.

Shortly the servo skull returned, relaying whatever it might have learnt to Pak who - in their own unique way - conveyed this information to Jarrion.

“Colony transmitter? Ah, I see it,” Jarrion said, checking the map again. It was close by, thankfully. Would certainly explain the volume of the gunfire. This way!”

Sword waving over his head Jarrion led the way, cutting through yet more hab blocks and coming out into a wide, crate-stacked courtyard area within which Shepard had plainly been very busy. Dead Collectors abounded, and live ones continued to swarm in.

Seeing Shepard and her team hunkered down and raining all manner of technicolour hell on anything careless enough to stick its head out of cover, Jarrion ramped up the external volume on his helmet and yelled:

“Fancy seeing you here, Commander!”

The shock of this was enough to actually break Shepard’s concentration, at least for a second. She then went back to putting mass-accelerated rounds through the heads of husks and drones, occasionally tossing a grenade to land in the lap of anything that felt like staying buttoned down.

Jarrion took in the scene, casting his eye around. He then pointed to the nearest building.

“Mikail, Irfan - grapnel up onto that hab structure there and set up the heavy bolter. Castellos, you cover them.” 

What with the drones having been observed flying around and all.

The armsmen nodded acknowledgement and peeled off, clambering up to set the weapon up. Jarrion led the rest of the squad - and Loghain, Thale and Pak, obviously - straight into the heart of the fray, catching the Collectors between the two forces. Their desperation quickly became apparent, but desperation isn’t much use when flanked.

“Aha! They don’t like that,” Jarrion laughed uproariously as he watched a clutch of drones bursting apart in a hail of heavy bolter fire, the stragglers picked off variously with lasblasts and whatever it was that Shepard’s lot were firing.

“We’re waiting for the lasers to come online!” Shepard shouted over the din. “Just hold on! They come on we’ll drive that ship of theirs off!”

“I think we can do better than holding them off, Commander! Forward, men! No survivors!”

Jarrion - perhaps unwisely, but then again it paid to be seen to be dashing - vaulted onto one of those handy, hefty crates, firing the whole while. Another of those particle beams licked out but caught his refractor field, which crazed. He turned to dispatch the offending Collector only to find that he’d finally emptied his bolt pistol. Holstering it he drew the Steelburner, only to find that by the time he had the drone in question was already dead.

Such was life.

What Collectors remained were clearly on their last legs, but showed no signs of retreating. If anything they threw themselves forward with even greater ferocity. Jarrion found a Husk clutching at his leg and rammed the barrel of his pistol into its eye socket before blowing out the back of its head, shaking the corpse free gingerly and hopping down off the crate, thinking that maybe he’d misjudged the whole gesture.

He found himself standing beside Shepard, picking his targets as he picked hers.

“Is that a laser?” She asked between shots, never taking her eyes off target.

Jarrion, shooting down a drone with two to the chest and one of the head before whirling around to shoot down another flying in directly for him, took a second to respond.

“Hmm? Oh, yes. Is that unusual?” He asked.

“Little bit!”

And all at once they realised that everything around them was dead. The quiet was deafening.

“Oh. That was it?” Jarrion asked, looking around and seeing nothing but corpses. He glanced up to those men with the heavy bolter and saw, to his relief, that they were fine. Everyone was fine. Or at least, no-one had been any more injured that he could see. That was nice.

“Something’s coming,” Loghain said. Again she’d appeared by his side without warning and this made him jump, but then he saw that she was pointing in the direction of the towering alien ship.

“What?”

“Something,” she said.

At first he thought that maybe she was just imagining things, the strain of protecting them from the Seekers having taken its toll. But then Shepard raised a hand and had a look herself.

“I see it. What is that?”

No-one had any answers to this, though in a few seconds it hardly mattered. Whatever it was came swooping in, landing heavily in the courtyard. Something big and armoured and insectile and wrapped around a core of twisted human remnants. It did not move like a machine, but something living. An aberration!

“Filthy xenos…” Jarrion muttered before shouting across the squad-wide commnet: “Everyone fire NOW!”

And everyone did. Everyone who’d heard him, at least, which was those on his quad, though a split-second after they’d started Shepard and her team got in on the act as well. The more the merrier.

The alien machine basically disappeared beneath the fusilade. A storm of lasbeams and hellgun blasts and heavy bolter shells and that lethal heat beam of Pak’s and even Rolf’s now-soothed plasmagun, being fired by Pak from their mechanderites. Not to mention a hail of mass accelerator rounds and grenades and concussive blasts and overloads and everything else anyone might care to have thrown in the thing’s direction.

It did not last, and by the time the order to cease fire was given there wasn’t a whole lot of it left.

The quiet that followed this was considerably more deafening. No-one seemed to know what to say.

Jarrion, as was his custom, was the first one to speak up:

“Strange. One got the impression that was going to be serious. Oh well.”

About this time the GARDIAN batteries finally started firing.

Targets locked and power charged the guns all turned as one and opened up on the Collector ship, blowing chunks off of it, their target a sitting duck. Each blast set off a detonation that seemed to shake the earth itself and, clearly not wanting to be picked apart while trapped and helpless, the ship immediately start taking off, jet roaring as it headed to the skies.

“They’re going to get away! Bastards!” Jarrion spat, hands on his hips.

“They got what they came for. At least we stopped them before they got everyone. Bastards,” Shepard spat, also annoyed.

“Something else is coming,” Loghain said, head tilted. Jarrion sighed.

“Marvellous. Some lost monster left behind?”

“No. Something up there. The Immaterium.”

That made Jarrion’s ears prick up.

“The Imma…” he said, casting his eyes to the sky.

On the surface, everyone’s teeth gave a single, sudden throb and high up above, just visible in the sky, a swirling rend in the very fabric of reality itself tore open and through it came the glorious bulk of the Assertive. Jarrion beamed.

“Emperor blind me but they made good time! And right where we needed them to be! Very convenient. Vox link!”

This Jarrion shouted while holding out a hand. Armsman Blithe - who had been thanklessly lugging around a vox pack the whole time they’d been planetside just on the off-chance they’d need one - dashed over and turned, taking a knee so that Jarrion could use the pack.

Finding the Assertive’s frequency was easy what with it being practically hanging over their heads, and while the link was strong it was not as clear as it might have been. Still, it was there.

“Torian! Marvellous timing! I have urgent orders!” Jarrion yelled into the handset. He didn’t really need to yell over anything, experience had just taught him that vox’s responded better if you yelled at them.

“Lord Captain?” Came Torian’s voice crackling back at him.

“That ship is attempting to escape! Do not let it! Fire on it immediately!”

This Jarrion said while pointing at the Collector ship. Obviously, he didn’t need to do this either.

“Lord Captain,” came Torian’s confirmation.

Nothing to do after that but wait.

The Collector ship continued rising, moving now in an arc, travelling straight for the Assertive which had exited Warp dead ahead of it, the aliens clearly planning on breaking past it. Jarrion had no real grasp of what ships in these parts were capable of but he could feel in his waters that the window to departure was closing and closing fast.

“Come on Torian…” he muttered under his breath and as if by magic a moment later the Assertive opened fire.

Torian - wisely, Jarrion felt - did not spread the available power around and instead pumped everything that was on hand at that moment into the prow lance, and from this fired a five second salvo. The effect on the Collector ship was immediate and dramatic. Whatever defences it had, were they even raised, did nothing. 

The lance beam sliced through the hull, burned deep, and after perhaps a second came exploding out the other side having cut through the whole length of the ship. The lance had succeeded in entirely transfixing the vessel end-to-end. 

From the prow upwards the beam sliced, searing effortlessly through armour and superstructure and whatever else the foul Xenos craft happened to be made of. A whole segment of the ship was carved away, as one might carve off a chunk of cheese with a length of wire. Countless tonnes of partly-vapourised debris was blown clear of its stern in a glowing spray. Very dramatic stuff.

Those on the surface of Horizon saw all of this, and stood gaping the whole while.

The Collector ship, a moment later, exploded, detonations rumbling and popping all across its surface before it ruptured completely from within, coming apart with great force.

Jarrion raised the handset to his mouth again.

“Good work, Torian. That should do it.”


	15. Fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disagreement is inevitable, and I imagine there will be many others before this is anywhere near done.
> 
> But what would life be if everyone agreed on how things should go?

The feeling of mixed triumph and surprise did not long last for Jarrion as some seconds after the Assertive had stopped the Collector vessel in its tracks he had someone tap him on the shoulder. They had to tap pretty hard, what with him wearing armour and all.

“Hmm, yes?” He asked, turning.

Jarrion was then somewhat alarmed at finding himself dangling. Shepard, it turned out, was a lot stronger than she looked. Strong enough to grab a man in full carapace and hoist him into the air, it transpired.

“You maniac, a third of the colony was on that fucking ship!” She snapped, glaring up at him.

Shepard then felt something nudge against the side of her head. This she discovered was a gun barrel - Thale had appeared almost as if from thin air to put his hellgun up to her temple. Everyone else was also pointing their guns at everybody else, too. Things had gone very quiet indeed.

“Thale, please, we’re simply having a conversation,” Jarrion said with a lot more confidence than he felt, reaching out to awkwardly pat the man on the only body part he could reach, which was Thale’s forearm.

A particularly tense pause and then Thale gave a brief nod, stepped back and lowered his hellgun. A few equally tense seconds after this everyone else also relaxed - for a given value of relaxed - and Shepard put Jarrion back on his feet.

Once settled he dusted himself down, straightened out the jacket spread across his shoulders, and cleared his throat.

“As I understand it,” he said. “Our mission here was to stop this alien attack. To all appearances it seems that we’ve done this.”

He gave a gesture meant to encompass the profusion of dead Collectors they were currently standing in the middle of. With exquisite timing a dead Husk chose this moment to slither from the rooftop it had died on and land with a thump on the ground. Shepard ignored this, though she internally admitted it was pretty funny. She had a point to make.

“Yes, and then you blew their ship up! A ship that was full of people!” She said, pointing upward. Jarrion didn’t look because he didn’t need to. He was also starting to feel a bit underappreciated.

“A mercy, then! You’ve seen what these xenos do! They’re hardly friendly and accommodating! I doubt the colonists had much to look forward to! And the ship is still there, in case you hadn’t noticed! Look!”

Jarrion’s turn to point. The Collector ship was indeed still above them, having apparently managed to reach orbit before being destroyed. Lucky it was a clear day, really, otherwise spotting them would have been quite difficult. As it stood, you could just about spot them. If you really looked.

Shepard just glared, something lost on Jarrion as she was wearing a helmet, much as he was.

“Yeah, as an exploded wreck. That’s not a whole lot of use to the people inside it, is it?”

“A lance is a very precise weapon alongside being a very powerful one, I assure you. While that ship is surely crippled, internally it may well be more intact that you suspect. And - given that they went to all the trouble in the first place - one would imagine they would have stored their cargo quite safely and securely.”

This was Jarrion talking out his arse as quickly as the words came to him, but the way he said it made him sound very convincing indeed. There was a reason he was the Lord Captain, after all.

This reason was that he was the son of a Rogue Trader.

But he was also very good at sounding convincing, even when saying the most outlandish bullshit. The key was that he never once doubted anything he said, no matter how untrue it might or might not be. All relative, wasn’t it?

“You don’t know that, you’re just guessing,” Shepard said, Jarrion’s mojo not really hitting her square on but still carrying enough confidence to at least confuse her.

“You’re just guessing that I’m guessing,” Jarrion said.

This took Shepard a solid second to actually wrap her head around, because she couldn’t fully believe someone could have said something like that to her. Once she had, she couldn’t come up with a response because it annoyed her so much so she just went:

“Argh!”

And turned away, not really wanting to look at Jarrion right then if she could help it.

“Well, would you have let them go?” Jarrion asked, doing his best not to sound irritated. He even turned to Loghain and the others to see if they knew what he might have done wrong but they were as in the dark as he was and could only shrug.

Shepard was going to respond, too, but then she thought about it. What had her plan been, exactly? The idea had been to repel the attack on the colony, yes? And they’d done that. So that was good. That part was beyond dispute.

But, thinking about it, she couldn’t help but suddenly feel that the whole operation had been rushed into. It had had to have been, of course, time had been of the essence, when else might there have been such an opportunity available? But thinking about it now that everything had settled, what might the actual plan have looked like?

The greater, overarching plan was clear - find way through relay, go through relay, see what they’ve got going on over there, make it explode, stop attacks, have drinks. Simple in theory, trickier in execution. That was fine, she could understand that. That was a clear goal.

In the very, very immediate short term - as in, standing on a planet that had only recently been under attack - what was it she’d been meaning to do? Single-handedly kill every Collector the ship might have felt like sending at them? Blowing the ship up herself? Driving it off somehow, like she’d done? Boarding it in a daring raid to rip out something important they could analyse for useful information?

If she’d had the option of blowing the ship up herself, would she have? Without those lasers how might she have managed that, exactly? Thrown the Normandy at it and hoped for the best? Assuming she even wanted to make it blow up? It had been packed with stolen humans, after all, and she was currently angry at Jarrion for blowing the thing up.

On top of which there was no guarantee that the GARDIAN battery couldn’t have accidentally hit something vital and blown the thing up while it was still on the surface, or else done enough damage to cripple the thing and have it die on its own later. Who knew? Maybe the Collector ship was made of papier mache and relied entirely on the element of surprise? 

It was unlikely, sure, but they had absolutely no information to go on at this point. And as a rule if you were shooting something you should always at least entertain the possibility that it was going to get destroyed.

And assuming that the Collectors had just been driven off without being destroyed wouldn’t that mean they’d still have taken all those colonists? And wouldn’t that be bad, too? Who knew what might have happened to them, then. They’d be in the wind and gone all the same. As good as dead, surely. No guarantee they wouldn’t be. 

At least this way where they’d ended up was obvious. In a ship that had been shot through by some weirdo space-ray and was now hanging in orbit, dead, probably on fire inside with all vital systems fried. Great.

The whole thing made her head spin. This was one of those situations where there wasn’t actually an obvious best option, at least none that Shepard had had available. This irritated her. No matter which way things might have gone there would have been someone, somewhere ready to jump down her throat. She could hear them now.

As it happened, she supposed things could have gone worse. Could have gone a lot better, probably, but such was life.

“Fine,” she said, at length, grunting. “What’s done is done anyway. Now we just have a big, dead spaceship hanging overhead. Hope it doesn’t crash. EDI, is that thing going to crash?”

“Presently, the Collector ship is in a moderately stable orbit, though at its current rate of decay it can be expected to drop out and fall to the surface sometime in the next ten years,” EDI said in both Shepard and Jarrion’s ears.

“See? Plenty of time,” Jarrion said, beaming. He then frowned. “Wait, hang on, how can I hear-”

“They’re gone! They - wait, they’re still there? What are they doing?” Shouted a colonist, running out from left field and interrupting things.

The colonist, having shown up to the scene late, had not seen that the Collector ship had been prevented from escaping or how Jarrion’s ship had stopped the Collector ship from escaping. He just saw that the Collector ship wasn’t going anywhere, and that there was another, even larger vessel in orbit. He had mixed feelings about this.

“What the hell is that other thing? That another ship?” He asked, shielding his eyes with a hand and squinting upward.

Jarrion had no idea who this local was but felt that polite introductions would go a long way, especially given his immediate plans concerning the planet. Always a fine plan to get started on the right and proper foot - a friendly foot!

He stepped towards the man, holding out a hand.

“Hello. You’re quite safe now, I’m happy to say. The attack has been repulsed with prejudice and the aliens prevented from making off,” Jarrion said.

The colonist just blinked at him. And not a friendly blink, either. This was the blink of someone seeing something they had absolutely no enthusiasm or time for.

“Who the hell are you? What’s that accent? What’s with the jacket?” He asked, pointing at Jarrion’s jacket. Jarrion looked down at it and failed to see why it should be remarkable.

“Merely a concerned passerby who saw fit to render assistance. Now that that’s done, I’d actually rather like to enquire about possibly setting up shop - as it were - on a nicely secluded spot on this lovely planet of yours. Not nearby, I assure you, somewhere you wouldn’t even notice us. Or we could lease some land from you, if that would work?”

Not much sense in dancing around the issue, Jarrion felt. Good to get down to brass tacks.

The colonist was entirely nonplussed and roundly confused.

“Lease?”

“Or rent, depending on what terms are agreeable. I’m flexible,” Jarrion said.

“Why the hell would we let you do that?”

Not exactly an overwhelmingly positive reaction but it was early days.

“Oh, it can be a mutually beneficial arrangement, I assure you. I’d be more than willing to render whatever assistance your fine colony might require in its recovery and beyond. Help in reconstruction, raw materials, anything you might need from elsewhere, weaponry…”

The last word did make the man’s ears prick up, but didn’t improve his mood overmuch.

“You can keep your help but we’ll see about the other stuff. I don’t run this place. Not sure who’s left who would still be in charge…” The colonist said, again casting his eyes upwards to where he’d seen the alien ship go and stop.

“Well, as and when, anyone who is in a position to speak for the colony would be more than welcome to come aboard my ship and speak with my Seneschal. Or else I could have him come down here, whichever is more convenient to you,” Jarrion said.

“Your ship?”

“Yes, the Assertive. That one there. Near to the alien vessel that it stopped from escaping,” Jarrion said, pointing upward. The colonist turned again to look and when he looked back to Jarrion he appeared confused.

“That thing’s yours?” He asked.

“Yes.”

“Are you joking?”

“No?”

By this point Shepard - who was not involved in the conversation - had removed her helmet to get some fresh air. The colonist glanced at this, then did a double-take and took a proper look.

“Wait, I recognise you…”

“Commander Shepard, Alliance military, saviour of the Citadel. You’re in the presence of a legend. And a ghost.”

This last was said by a guy who just emerged from behind some crates. This made Jarrion jump. What was it with people just appearing randomly all of a sudden now that the shooting had stopped?

“Had he been waiting this whole time?” He said to himself.

The colonist was not impressed by this, either.

“Oh God, it’s you. Sure, half the colony gets taken but you’re still here. Great. Who even talks like that? I need a lie down, done with this for the day,” he said, dismissing all present with the wave of a hand and then sloping off to parts unknown.

Everyone watched him go, then it was back to the matter at hand.

“Hello there Kaiden, fancy seeing you here. How’s it going? Been a while,” said Shepard.

“That’s all you have to say? After two years? After coming back from the dead? Just acting like it didn’t happen?” Kaiden asked, obviously angry.

“Well I could dwell on how I died in space in agony but I like to think it’s better to try and move past that,” Shepard said, sourly. Jarrion stood to one side, trying not to draw any attention to himself. It worked well.

“I would have followed you anywhere, Commander! Thinking you were gone...it was like losing a limb. Why didn’t you try to contact me? Why didn’t you let me know you were alive?”

Shepard was pretty clearly taken aback by this strong line of questioning. Not every day you get compared to the loss of a limb. She cleared her throat quietly.

“...little busy being dead at the time, Kaiden. Getting blasted into space will do that. And then it was kind of a rush. The Cerberus station that put me back together again got attacked. It was a whole thing.”

Kaiden’s look got somehow even more severe and he took a step backwards, staring at Shepard as though she’d grown a second head.

“You’re with Cerberus now? Garrus too? I’d heard rumours but I didn’t believe them. I didn’t want to. And you’re saying it’s true? Alliance intel was that Cerberus might have been behind these attacks on the colonies.”

“What? Actually, okay, I can see why you might believe that. But it’s not like that, as you’ve probably seen. Cerberus and us are actually on the same page on this one. Strange times we live in, right?”

“Do you really believe that? Or is that what Cerberus want you to think?”

“Uh, Kaiden, you can see all the dead Collectors, right?”

Kaiden elected to ignore this.

“I wanted to believe the rumours that you were alive, but I never expected anything like this. You’ve turned your back on everything we stood for!”

“Hey, whoa, back the bus the fuck up - excuse me? I get brought back to life by the evil bastards we don’t like, sure, but then they also decided that humans getting abducted is bad and bankroll me trying to stop that. And that, me stopping colonies getting attacked, is turning my back on what exactly? Oh and by the way the Collectors and Reapers are looking to be linked, so there’s that too. Something to consider.”

“I want to believe you, Shepard, but I don’t trust Cerberus. They could be using the threat of a Reaper to manipulate you. What if they’re behind it?”

“Behind what?! We are literally standing in the middle of an attacked colony! Attacked by Collectors! Cerberus could be singing fucking showtunes and leading me around by the nose but we are literally standing surrounded by the dead aliens who attacked this colony! I get paranoia - I’m all for paranoia! - but thinking that Cerberus have attack aliens on standby is a step too far! I am not sure what part of this is confusing you!”

“Maybe they’re working with the Collectors,” Kaiden said. Shepard spluttered.

“Working with - are you listening to yourself? Are you aware of what the term ‘myopic’ means? Maybe a little overfocused on Cerberus here? To the exclusion of all else? To the exclusion of the bleeding obvious?”

“Maybe. Or maybe because they brought you back you think you owe them something.”

“Bullshit, I don’t owe them jack. They’re just the ones footing the bill on this right now. Don’t see anyone else doing anything about it. And once it’s done that’s them thrown under the bus, I don’t even care.”

Shepard turned to look at the woman in the impractical bodyglove, who Jarrion dimly recalled might have been called Miranda.

“Sorry, but it’s true. I really don’t care,” Shepard said. Miranda just shrugged, as someone who’d long-since accepted something might shrug and Shepard turned back again.

“See? They’re good for now but I am well aware that they’re up to no good. As and when that manifests I’ll be ready to shoot it in the face because that’s kind of my thing. Until then, Collectors are an issue. So here we are.”

Kaiden did not look convinced. He shook his head.

“You’ve changed. I still know where my loyalties lie-”

He didn’t get a chance to finish.

“You fucking what! Don’t you walk away from me! You’re not getting the last word on this one!”

Things got progressively more heated from there.

“I don’t think this conversation concerns us…” Jarrion muttered, slinking away to rejoin his entourage, who had settled in amongst themselves a certain distance away from Shepard and her lot, sitting down on crates, checking equipment and having wounds seen to. Jarrion took a seat just along a waist-high barrier from Loghain, who was sitting somewhat listlessly with her hands in her lap.

“Can I take this helmet off now?” She asked. She sounded tired and Jarrion nodded without really looking at her or paying much attention. When he did give her a sideways look once she had the helmet off he jolted in surprise - she appeared to be bleeding from the eyes somehow. And ears. And mouth. And nose.

“Eyes of Leonis! Loghain! What happened?”

“I may have overexerted myself,” she sniffed, tilting her head back.

“Obviously so! How! What in the Emperor’s name did you do?”

“It was rather dull keeping those, ah, little buzzy things at bay so I thought I’d see what else I could do. Sew confusion and doubt, cultivate a climate of hesitation and sluggishness - fairly standard trick, really. Was curious how it might work out these aliens. Well enough, from the looks of things, but something of a strain. Their minds are, ah, not wholly their own. Do you know, I believe they were being actively commanded by an outside force? During this engagement?”

“Ah, this ‘outside force’ you mentioned previously that made them a catspaw?” Jarrion asked. From his jacket he produced a handkerchief which he proffered to Loghain and which she took and pressed to her nose. Then her ears. Then just anywhere else that still seemed to be bleeding.

“Possibly. Or else simply a remote commander who was not personally present. Possibly one on that ship above us. Possibly one further afield still, relayed remotely. That’s a thought, isn’t it?” She asked.

Jarrion was not especially concerned.

“Well, in future perhaps limit yourself to only what’s required, eh? Just to be on the safe side,” he said.

“I had no idea you cared, Jarrion,” she said with a smile and he bristled.

“That’s Lord Captain to you, if you don’t mind. And I don’t, not really. It’s just that if an Inquisitor happened to die while on my ship or nearby then I’ve no doubt another one would come sniffing around not long after, and they’d probably take their job more seriously than you do.”

“It’s okay to say you care, I know you do,” Loghain said, holding the blood-soaked handkerchief back to him, smirking and giving his leg a pat.

Jarrion turned away with a grunt, and deigned not to answer.

Meanwhile, off to the side, the armsmen were doing their own thing.

They’d come through the various firefights - one long, running one, really - more-or-less intact, much to their delight, though that was not to say they had come through completely unscathed. There was a fair amount of bleeding and groaning going on among those less fortunate, which was to say nothing of the most unfortunate, who were worryingly quiet.

The sergeant looked down at the battered, buckled and bent plates of his armour and let out a low whistle. They didn’t look great, but they’d held at least. Probably a pretty strident sign that he’d been standing out in the open too much, if nothing else.

“I’m glad we were wearing carapace. Don’t think flak would have held up too well, eh?” He asked.

“You’re telling me…” said the nearest armsman, staring in consternation at the bleeding hole in his leg where a round had found a gap between the plates. The sergeant followed the line of the man’s eye to see the wound and frowned.

“You should probably get that looked at,” he said, warningly, but the armsman just pointed off and shrugged.

“Medic’s checking Rolf right now,” he said. This did not need much further explanation. They’d all seen what had happened to him. Heard it, too. None of them could have guessed what a screamer Rolf would turn out to be.

Then again, having your hands melted could bring that out of most people.

“Ah. The hands?” The sergeant said. The arsman nodded.

“The hands.”

“Damn poor luck, that,” sniffed the sergeant, looking about. “How’s Jajko?”

Jajko being the deeply ill-fortuned man who’d caught the beam weapon and had had his guts fall out as a result. Quick action and judicious application of powerful drugs had forestalled instant death and kept him mostly upright, but the sergeant did not have particularly high hopes at this point.

“He’s over there,” the armsman said, pointing again. Jajko was off to one side, laid flat and unmoving.

“He looks dead,” the sergeant said.

“He probably is.”

Stims and battlefield medicae could only do so much, after all.

“Damn poor luck…” the sergeant said, shaking his head and looking down. Something caught his eye.

A round had, inexplicably and in defiance of the odds involved, managed to lodge itself in a narrow gap between two carapace plates. The sergeant had to give it a firm tug or two but then it came loose and he held it up between forefinger and thumb, squinting at it.

“These look like teeth,” he said, holding it out. The armsman looked over. The sergeant wasn’t wrong.

“Urgh. Xenos.”

Meanwhile meanwhile, back with Jarrion, the Rogue Trader was again on the vox to the Assertive.

“Lord Captain? What’s happening down there?” Torian asked, crackling.

“Just wrapping some things up, Torian. There’ll be some negotiations soon that will require your attention, but for right now I’d like you to organise some boarding parties.”

“Lord Captain?”

“For the alien vessel. I want it given a thorough going over. If there’s anything valuable on that wreck I want to know about it and then I want to have it,” he said. Then, as afterthought: “And any human survivors from among those abducted, of course.”

They’d be valuable in their own way, were any found, though Jarrion wasn’t holding his breath. Just good to be seen to care.

If Torian had reservations about being asked to send men and material over to an alien ship he managed to keep most of them out of his voice.

“Lord Captain,” he said.

“And standby for further instructions.”

“Lord Captain,” he said. A versatile pair of words and no mistake.

Jarrion hung the handset up and the armsman with the vox went jogging off again. Quite why he didn’t just leave the thing Jarrion wasn’t sure. There was probably a good reason.

“Looting alien ships? Tsch,” Loghain said, shaking her head.

“Please. I’m just being prudent.”

“Oh is that what they call it now?”

Jarrion had lengthy, well-thought out reasons for wanting to see if there was anything of value on that ship - beyond the obvious - but did not have the energy to even start explaining them to Loghain, especially given as he imagined she would just smirk and grin her way through anything he might have to say.

Instead, he took his own helmet off at last and sighed, rubbing his eyes.

“I don’t have to justify myself to you, Loghain,” he said, setting his helmet beside him and smoothing back his hair.

“I’m an Inquisitor,” Loghain said, as though this blew Jarrion’s sentence out of the water. Jarrion was unmoved. They’d danced this dance before.

“Yes. And somewhat out of your jurisdiction. While I, a Rogue Trader, am operating as I am allowed to operate where I am allowed to do just so. Fancy that.”

“I wonder how that argument might hold up back home…” Loghain said, tapping a finger against her chin. Jarrion remained unmoved.

“Poorly, one assumes. But we are not back home, are we?”

“Not yet.”

“Well there’s that to look forward to, then.”

At this point Shepard came wandering over looking grumpy. The man she’d been talking to was nowhere to be seen, and neither was the colonist.

“That was aggravating,” she said, coming to a halt just in front of Jarrion and Loghain.

“Friend of yours?” Jarrion asked.

“Yes. Just not really the right circumstances for a reunion.”

“Ah. That’s unfortunate. Not beyond repair, I hope?”

“Remains to be seen,” Shepard said, then looking at the armsmen. “Your guys get through alright?”

“For the most part. They gave a fair account of themselves, given the unknown nature of the foe. Rogue Trader must be prepared for the unexpected, of course, so this sort of thing isn’t wholly unusual. Odd weaponry, though. And defences!”

An odd thing to mention, Shepard felt, but then it clicked.

“Ah. Barriers?”

“Yes. Quite unused to having such equipment be so widespread. You did mention it, of course, but quite another thing to see it in practise.”

“You have something, if I saw right.”

Shepard had been a bit taken aback by the big glowing bubble of crackling energy that had appeared around Jarrion once or twice, but she’d got over it easily enough. These things happened. Jarrion just nodded.

“I do indeed. But that’s me. My men not so much. But this is just waffling, I’m sorry, quite tired. You seem to have come through alright,” he said, not noticing anything in the way of significant damage. 

“That’s barriers for you. They’re pretty good. Can shrug off a rocket. On a good day.”

“That is rather impressive!”

“It is, yeah,” Shepard said.

Barriers - or at least every barrier she’d ever had the opportunity to use - did all seem to have just enough power on hand to fortuitously block almost all of the impact from particularly lethal weapons, such as roving rockets. 

Of course, you’d be left gasping and usually with just enough of a sliver of vitality remaining to scramble into cover and wait for the recharge, but still. It held, that was the point. And kept you alive long enough to get back into things with a fighting chance.

Kind of lucky how that worked, actually. Every single time. Must have been a design feature or something. Very handy.

“I had indeed quite forgotten about them, I must admit,” Jarrion said, cutting Shepard’s concentration back to the moment. “Was quite confused those times I landed what appeared to be perfectly fine shots that instead detonated just shy of the mark. Makes more sense now.”

“You should probably look to maybe getting some of your own. If you’re sticking around.”

“Maybe, maybe. Who knows! But anyway. I imagine this is where we part ways, yes?”

Shepard looked around again at the many, many dead Collectors strewn about the place.

“Looks that way,” she said.

Jarrion, with a grunt, stood up from the barrier he’d been sat on and extended a hand to Shepard who, in contrast to the colonist, did actually shake it.

“One can only imagine - given the odd way the universe tends to run - that we’ll end up running into each other again at some point,” Jarrion said. Shepard had to laugh at that.

“I can see that happening, yes.”

“Good to have friends in strange places. As and when we figure out how to return I shall send you a message, just so you know.”

“Thanks. I think?”

Shepard wasn’t really sure what the etiquette was in a situation like this. It wasn’t something she’d come up against before. Or hoped to come up against again, really.

The handshake broke, the two of them stepped back.

“I think it only right and proper I mark the occasion of our parting with a small gift,” Jarrion said.

“You really don’t have to,” Shepard said, caught off-guard, but Jarrion shook his head and wagged his finger.

“I insist! Just a token of my esteem. I’m hardly going to hand over my ship but something small, simply name it. Never let it be said that House Croesus is anything but generous to its friends!”

Always good to be remembered fondly. Paid off in the long run.

Shepard about what it would be too cheeky to ask for, and settled on something she might actually be interested in:

“Couldn’t have a lasergun, could I?” She asked.

Jarrion had not seen that one coming. It just seemed rather underwhelming.

“A lasgun? Uh, um, I don’t see why not, uh…”

Jarrion, doing some quick thinking, looked around for the least-valuable las weapon within reach. His eyes alighted on Loghain.

“Loghain,” he hissed. “Could you please pass me that weapon I lent you?”

“Oh no, my precious laspistol,” Loghain said, flipping open the holster and handing it over.

“House Croseus property, I think you’ll find. Here you go, Commander,” Jarrion said, taking it and duly passing it to Shepard, who found it slightly heavier than she’d expected. But, being a ridiculous cyborg, this did not show.

“Much obliged,” she said.

“Are you sure that’ll suffice? It’s only a Civitas pattern laspistol, hardly a worthy gift.”

“I’m a cheap date.”

Jarrion was unsure how to take this, so paused, then smiled, assuming - correctly - that it was a joke.

“...noted, Commander. Take it with my compliments,” he said.

Without anywhere to actually put the thing Shepard was just left holding it in one hand.

“Will do,” she said, then raising a free hand to her ear. “EDI? Can you get the shuttle round here, please? We have some debriefing to do and I need a cup of tea.”

Jarrion did not hear the response to this but, fairly shortly afterwards, their shuttle came roaring in and landed and Shepard and all her crew obligingly clambered aboard, Shepard sparing Jarrion one last wave before the door closed and off they went. Jarrion stood in the wash of their departure, doing his best to look commanding as his jacket flapped about his shoulders.

Loghain came up beside him, head tilted up toward the sky for no discernible reason.

“Not only did you stick me, an Inquisitor, with only a laspistol for a combat mission but it was also a civilian grade laspistol?” She asked. Jarrion slumped and glared at her. It wasn’t easy being annoyed with someone with that much dried blood on their face, but he managed it.

“Oh give over, you didn’t even fire the damn thing,” he growled.

“It’s the principle of the thing!”


	16. Sixteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whether Jarrion's scheme is in any way feasible of sensible I have no idea because I'm an idiot but this story is basically a big dumb joke anyway so who cares?
> 
> That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it! Anything you see that you don't like? It's all a joke!

“I must say, you made very good time in getting here,” Jarrion said. Altrx just shrugged, as though it wasn’t as big of a deal as the Lord Captain was making out it was but that he wouldn’t mind a few more kind words all the same.

“Oh, it wasn’t that impressive, really,” he said, taking a drag and puffing out a thin cloud of something probably illegal and expensive. “I mean, I couldn’t think of many other of my peers who could do the same or even close but, you know, one doesn’t like to toot one’s own horn.”

This was the cue for Jarrion to give the go-ahead for horn tooting. Everyone else gathered into the ostentatious greeting room - again, senior personnel, Pak, Loghain and so forth - braced themselves.

“How did you do it?” Jarrion asked, obligingly.

Altrx took a breath and thence followed his explanation.

It involved - again - Altrx’s vivid description of what his particular visualisation of the Warp looked like. Again he spoke of what should have been mountains and here instead were plains, lacking distinction. He spoke of how he had consulted the relevant map data to mark out the most populous spots between where they’d been and where they’d arrived. 

In this way - so Altrx said - they could chart a course, moving between what appeared in the Empyrean as gentle rising slopes in the plain, the weight of souls pressing in from reality. Never would have worked back home, Altrx made clear, but here the stillness and silence of the Warp allowed it - indeed, required it, lacking the Astronomicon. 

Altrx was was very impressed at his own ingenuity in having conceived all of this, and to be fair the results couldn’t really be argued with, either.

Jarrion knew better than to interrupt the Navigator as he was giving his spiel so just nodded in all the right places and slipped in the occasional ‘Is that so?’ and ‘Fascinating’ as the situation dictated. Navigators got this kind of slack. They were important enough to not be worth annoying.

And what he was saying sounded convincing enough, at least to Jarrion. Was it believable? He didn’t know what was believable at this point, really, given the circumstances. And it had worked apparently, so who was he to judge?

“Very well done, Altrx, very well done indeed,” Jarrion said once Altrx had wrapped up and sat back to light up another one of his rollups. “And again I must commend your remarkable timing. Very, ah, what’s the word? Dramatic? Convenient?” 

This Jarrion asked while turning and looking upwards. This was such an odd gesture everyone present looked up, too. They just saw the ceiling. It was a very ornate and impressive but nothing there indicated what Jarrion might have been looking at.

“What are you looking at, Lord Captain?” Torian asked, in sotto voce. Jarrion clucked his tongue and brought his eyes back down again.

“Nothing. Just had the oddest feeling we were under close and critical observation. Like someone, somewhere is annoyed at just how lucky we are. Paranoia, I’m afraid. Occupational hazard. Anyway, we were saying?”

Shortly after Shepard and her crew had returned to the Normandy the lighter had come around to retrieve Jarrion and his lot, then returning to the Assertive. After sending off the armsmen for proper care and treatment (and disposal, as the need arose) Jarrion felt that a proper debriefing was in order.

Hence the gathering.

“Ah yes, that was it. This successful mission was the first step. I feel we have established ourselves, yes? Reputationally speaking, at least. Seen to be seen! Now, the second step. But first a brief question: how is the looking into the hows and whys of how and why we came to be here coming along?”

Jarrion’s question here directed towards the mechanicus contingent sat at the table, consisting of Pak and another techpriest sitting next to them.

The techpriest sat next to Pak was one of the lesser priests and so one who Jarrion was not personally familiar with, and they were the one who’d been put in charge of analysing the circumstances of their arrival. Jarrion could not off the top of his head remember their name.

Pak and the tech priest both gave that tiny, almost imperceptible tilt of the head that showed they were having a brief noospheric conversation. The tech priest then said:

“data.compiling,” in a flat, buzzing voice that came from the grille implanted where their jaw had originally been. This was pretty much the answer that Jarrion had been expecting, which is to say not much of an answer at all. But still, he could work with it.

“Right, good. Well, going forward we shall assume that this analysis will bear fruit, just not immediately. We shall assume, then, that we shall be here for the foreseeable future and move ahead with this in mind. So. Second step! Pak, if you would, please.”

Pak again interfaced with the hololithic projector which, after some fluttering and sputtering, got a nice picture of Horizon just hovering above the table just for something to look at while Jarrion spoke.

“The colony - where we just were - is here, roughly,” he said, pointing to one side of the planet. “What I would like is for us to obtain a little spit of land on the opposite side, somewhere either here, here or here.”

There were several good candidates they’d spotted from orbit, all within reach of what appeared to be reasonable mineral deposits or other equally useful natural resources that had the auspexes had turned up. Nothing so much the colonists might feel robbed, but enough that could be put to immediate use.

“Torian, it’ll be your job to do the negotiating on this one. Lease the land from them, buy it if they have anything they want to trade for it, I don’t mind. I just want a foothold on this planet, yes?”

“Yes Lord Captain.”

“Good man. Hope you brushed up on the lingo on the journey here. Once we have this spot I am going to be sending down a certain portion of the Assertive’s manufacturing equipment along with a fairly substantial level of manpower. This is going to be our hub, yes? The plan is to make profitable contact with any other colonies like this one, get them the things they need and take the things they don’t need as much in return, yes? Some of that comes here, we churn out some goods your average colonists might want, some spare parts we might need and so on and so forth. That’ll be here. Always good to have a place to come back to.”

So far no objections. Jarrion felt himself starting to get giddy. He’d always wanted to do something like this! Back home he’d never really got the chance. Father and his brothers were out there carving out the fresh territory, he was just there to keep the status quo behind them, protect what they’d built.

Now he was here and he could do what he liked!

“From there, expansion. Local contacts, yes? See what infrastructure they have already in place and do what we can to bring it under proper control, yes? Ultimately, in the long run, I want locals doing as much of the heavy lifting here as possible. Ideally speaking. Keeps us from spreading ourselves too thin and, well, why not? Making best use of what resources we have to hand is just prudence.”

And what were locals if not another resource?

Jarrion could see it now, sitting happily at the centre of an ever-expanding, happy little network. One world over here wanting X but having too much Y, him being able to link them up with another world overflowing with X but lacking Y and skimming off just enough to be able to produce some Z that everyone would obviously want. 

Growing, growing, just slipping in here and there, becoming ubiquitous, getting everyone what they wanted, when they wanted it. Becoming indispensable. Becoming who people turned to when they had a problem, being the one they turned to first.

That’s the way you did it, in Jarrion’s head. Conquer someone you spend the rest of your life keeping an eye on them to make sure they don’t cause trouble. Get them to come to rely on you? Well...

All for the Emperor, obviously, and for the greater glory of His Imperium once a way back had been discovered. It’d be Jarrion’s gift to the Lord of Mankind. What better gift could there be? Worlds ripe for the fold, immersed in the proper way of thinking, dependence woven in. Could annex without a shot being fired.

Beautiful, beautiful!

Later, though. For now more immediate concerns.

“So you’re setting up your own colony here, basically? Is that what you’re doing?” Loghain asked, snapping Jarrion out of his daydream. He frowned at her, which by this point was his usual response to most things Loghain said.

“Not exactly. It’s a logistical and manufacturing hub,” Jarrion said. To him these distinctions were important. “Any of these spots have good resources already and with the manufacturing capabilities the Assertive has - which, as I said, will be partially moved planetside - we’ll be able to produce all sorts of things. And what room that frees up onboard ship we can fill with whatever anyone else needs.”

“Sounds very exciting,” Loghain said, resting her chin on her hand, elbow on the table.

“Rogue Trader, Trader. The daring do and discovering new worlds is one thing but you actually have to do something with those worlds afterwards. And this is what we’re doing. Prosperity! And, later, proper Imperial control. But later! Once we’ve figured out how we arrived here and once we’re all nice friends.”

“You are…” Loghain said, failing to find the right words.

“Inspiring?” Jarrion ventured.

“You have some very odd ideas,” Loghain said, by way of compromise.

Jarrion could tell when he was being damned by faint praise.

“Does my plan not have enough shooting people for your liking?” He asked. Loghain waved a hand.

“I do find the lack of it odd.”

“I’d rather not have to take any shots I didn’t have to. But if I do have to, I will.”

“And what about the aliens?” The Inquisitor asked.

“What about the aliens? These are human colonies, yes? Those are the ones I’m going to be dealing with. If we find any alien ones? Well, we’ll see. I hear this is a lawless and dangerous expanse of the galaxy. All sorts of bad things can happen out here. So I hear.”

Loghain sat up straight again and beamed.

“That’s more like it. A much healthier attitude.”

Jarrion rolled his eyes and turned back to Torian.

“Speaking of xenos, how are the teams on the destroyed vessel getting along?”

It was the Master at Arms who spoke though, leaning in to get Jarrion’s attention.

“The initial boarding teams have encountered light resistance, Lord Captain. Though the ship is heavily damaged it appears there are at least some surviving xenos onboard. They are not expected to present a serious problem and already pacification is proceeding acceptably. Once a proper foothold has been secured the salvage teams can start their work properly.”

Jarrion was genuinely surprised to hear that there were survivors onboard. Did raise hopes about digging up surviving humans, he supposed, though he didn’t really allow his hopes to get raised by that much. At the least it was good to hear that there was nothing too horrible going wrong.

“Ah, that’s what I like to hear. I want that ship swept end-to-end, no xenos left breathing at all, that clear? Then I want it torn apart and I want to learn anything that we can from it. Pak, you’ll be on that. I know you’ve been waiting to ask,” Jarrion said, pointing to Pak who just nodded, though they also had to quickly tuck a mechadendrite back into their robe because it was quivering too much. 

Suppose that’s a lack of a poker face looked like on an Magos, Jarrion thought to himself.

“Very interesting…” Loghain said, quietly enough to make it obvious she wanted to be overheard.

“Oh please! I’m not going to start shipping the stuff back home. I just think it’d be foolish to clap my hands and declare the job done after shooting the ship once. I want to know more about these damn things so I can kill them more easily next time I run into them! And need I remind you that we are also looking for surviving colonists!”

What Jarrion had said was mostly true. Loghain held her hands up.

“You’re the Lord Captain. I’m just an Inquisitor. Out of my jurisdiction, like you say.”

“Yes. Thank you. Anyway, I believe I’ve said all I needed to say. This is what we’re doing now. Once the colony has recovered some more they should contact us, I hope, or else we’ll contact them and Torian, you can begin negotiations. Once that’s concluded we can set up our happy little hub.”

“What are you going to call it?” Loghain asked and Jarrion blinked at her.

“Call it?”

“This hub, this base. What are you going to call it?”

Jarrion hadn’t thought about that. It hadn’t crossed his mind at all.

“Uh, I don’t rightly know,” he said, casting an eye around to table for possible suggestions and receiving only blank looks and shrugs.

“You should name it something original like Bastion of Faith or Fortress Aquilla or the Emperor’s-” Loghain said, waving her hands about as the names got grander and grander. 

Jarrion had a feeling she wouldn’t stop unless someone stopped her, so stepped in and said:

“I think I shall name it Home Away From Home.”

Loghain pouted at him and then shook her head, sadly.

“Rogue Traders…”

-

“Shepard.. I trust the mission went well?”

Almost the instant I’d set foot back onboard the Normandy I’d been told the Illusive Man wanted a word. I hadn’t even had a chance to get out of my armour yet, let alone have a shower. Not really in the best mood for a chat.

“Can we skip this part? You know what happened, I know what happened, I know you know what happened. We defended the colony, drove them off,” I said.

Leaving out a few key details for the sake of brevity. 

He took a quick drag before answering.

“Good work on Horizon. Hopefully the Collectors will think twice before attacking another colony.”

I shrugged. See? He knew.

“We live in hope. I know I’d be touchy if I had my ship blown up out of nowhere. Take it you saw that?”

“I did. An unexpected development.”

“That all you have to say?”

“For now. We are keeping the situation under observation. It is not our primary concern at this time.”

“Fair play. So how are we going to pull the rug out from under the Collectors next? Take it you have something in mind?”

“The Collectors will be more careful now, but I think we can find another way to lure them in.”

Very particular choice of words. Kind of gave the game away, really. Figures.

“And there was me thinking that I was just lucky bumping into Kaiden. You wouldn’t happen to be the mysterious source of the news about me working with Cerberus, would you by any chance?”

He tapped out some ash.

“I released a few carefully disguised rumours that you might be alive and working for Cerberus,” he said.

“Thanks for that. Why, exactly?” I asked.

“I suspected the Collectors were looking for you or people connected to you, now I know for certain. It was a risk, but I couldn’t just wait for them to take another colony.”

I could see the logic in this, actually. Leak news I’m alive, Alliance gets it, Alliance already feebly doing something about Collector attacks which it suspects might also be something else it doesn’t really know yet. Alliance sends Kaiden to help out and also maybe catch me in the act if it is Cerberus doing this colony attacking thing. Collectors catch wind of Kaiden - old buddy Kaiden - being on a colony, colony gets attacked. 

Pretty simple stuff in hindsight, but what a shot in the dark before!

Guess it had paid off. And I guess it was better knowing where to go than just waiting for them to strike at random. That’s taking the initiative.

Still though. I know a colony had to get attacked somewhere, but being obliquely responsible for this particular one getting hit? There’s no way to feel good about that.

And he’d just sat back and pulled it all together! And hoped it worked! Yeesh.

Nothing’s ever easy.

“So now what?” I asked, deciding not to bother attempting to unpick his ethics or decision making process on that one. He’d only smoke at me and say something cynical, I’d expect.

“We have to keep the pressure on the Collectors. They’ll be more cautious with their ground operations now so we need another opening. I’m devoting all resources to finding a way through the Omega Four relay. We have to hit them where they live,” he said.

I raised an eyebrow.

“Their house?”

“Bingo. Your team will need to be strong, as will their resolve. No looking back. The same goes for you. I assume you put your past relationships behind you?”

What? What like all of them? Did he want me to not call mother anymore? Was I joining a cult?

“I’m not even sure what that means. One of the dossiers you sent me was for Garrus! Why would you go to the trouble of bringing me back from the dead if you didn’t want me being me?”

Was I missing something here?

“If it affects the mission it’s a concern. Shepard, once you find a way through the Omega Four relay to the Collector homeworld, there’s no guarantee you’ll return. To have any hope of surviving you and your entire team but be fully committed to this.” 

Oh, I get it. He was one of those people who thought professionals are friendless bastards.

Funnily enough, actually, I know how to have friends and also get things done. Tricky, I know, but I manage.

“Don’t you worry about that, I’ll have these guys tight knit as anything in no time.”

He accepted this without argument, which was nice.

“I’ve forwarded three more dossiers,” he said.

Did we have enough beds? Helped that some of these guys didn’t seem to want beds. Jack really did seem comfortable down there on those crates in amongst those pipes...

“My super group not quite super enough yet for you?” I asked.

“Given the importance of the mission I felt it was better that you be overprepared. You keep building your team while I find a way through the relay. Be careful Shepard, the Collectors will be watching you.”

“They should probably watch the other guy, too, given he blew up their damn ship.”

“About that. We’re still none the wiser as to who he is or where he came from, and from the looks of things they have technology that has not been observed anywhere else in the galaxy.”

I knew this already. I’d seen it!

“Your point being? They’re psychic too, some of them. You hear about that as well?” I asked.

Bleurgh. That really hadn’t been a nice experience at all, that.

The Illusive Man nodded, puffed.

“I did hear about certain anomalous abilities.It paints a very interesting picture. Particularly alongside what I’ve heard about their claimed point of origin,” he said.

“You should talk to the guy. You’d probably get on,” I said.

He cocked his head, just a tiny bit.

“What makes you say that?”

I thought about answering this question but then the sheer amount of detail I’d have to get into just made my head throb. Where would I even start?

“I couldn’t even begin to explain. Just - I reckon they come from a place that you’d rather like, from the sound of things. Big on humanity, not big on aliens,” I said.

“So you believe they are who they say they are? Time travel?”

Ugh. Hearing it aloud still makes my skin crawl. Ridiculous. I had to rub my face.

“I really don’t know. I don’t really care. Horizon’s done, I’m hoping to leave and get on with this and hopefully never see the guy again. Best of luck to him in whatever it is he’s doing, but I really don’t need that in my life.”

He stared at me briefly and then uncrossed and recrossed his legs.

“You continue with the mission, Shepard. I’ll find a way through the relay. We’ll keep an eye on this ‘Rogue Trader’ as far as it is feasible to do and as far as it relates to our primary focus: the Collectors. I’ll contact you when I’ve got something. In the meantime, you have your dossiers. Good luck, Shepard.”

“Aye aye, skip.”

-

Torians negotiations on Horizon, surprisingly, went very well indeed.

The goodwill from having been a part of stopping the aliens was not insignificant. A sense of abandonment from all other authority had caused a certain degree of bitterness so to come through such an attack and find their colony littered with dead aliens and their ship hanging equally dead in orbit had a fairly big effect on their attitude. Which was nice.

That said, they were still not exactly what might be described as friendly, at least according to Torian. They’d been grateful, yes, but had rankled at even the hint of the suggestion of outside interference. They appreciated the help, but they didn’t want anymore help, basically. No-one around there telling them what to do or pitching in to do things they could do themselves.

Independent spirit, Torian had said, as though they were dirty words.

But, still, they were at least open to the idea. Big planet, after all, and the unspoken implication that there would often be a very big, very dangerous spaceship in orbit wasn’t something they couldn’t see value in.

What they’d wanted in the end for the lease of a nice little stretch of land was fairly straightforward: assistance in the disposal of the alien bodies (this being something they felt it wasn’t really their job to do, which was fair enough), material with which the colonists could themselves repair the damage done (they did not want help, as mentioned), weaponry, and also a very firm agreement that the Imperials would keep themselves to themselves on the other side of the planet.

More than fair terms, in Jarrion’s mind. He couldn’t have wished for better, in fact. An agreement was signed in very short order indeed and Home Away From Home began construction bare hours later just as work crews were cheerfully shoveling Collectors into pits some miles out from the outer boundaries of the primary colony.

Not long after this, Jarrion was as shocked as anyone when the teams working on the stricken alien ship reported actually, really finding surviving colonists. And not just a few, either, but rather quite a lot! He honestly hadn’t actually expected what he’d said to Shepard to have any bearing in reality.

He was delighted, obviously, but still very surprised. It did present something of an issue though.

There were, as he saw it, three choices he could reasonably make.

The first and most direct would be, of course, to purge the pods they’d been found in and grant the poor colonists within them the Emperor’s mercy. Who knew what these foul aliens had done to them during their (albeit brief) captivity, what taint they now had in them? Ultimately it would be for their own good.

Certainly, it’s what father would have done.

Second, free them and return them to the colony. These backwards locals seemed to have a very high tolerance for contact with aliens - beyond a natural and understandable disinclination to being abducted, of course - so likely wouldn’t feel the remotest disgust at knowing their rescued friends and relatives had been in alien clutches. Likely they would feel only relief, which could only serve to boost Jarrion’s prestige. This would be valuable.

Thirdly, Home Away From Home could always use more workers, particularly in those areas of resource gathering with a projected higher turnover rate, such as the mines. These tainted, rescued colonists could be put to good use, no doubt, and serve a greater purpose than they might otherwise.

Decisions, decisions.

Ultimately, the second option seemed to Jarrion the only viable one. The other two would require a level of secrecy because he could imagine them both being things that the locals would be squeamish about and probably get upset over, which would harm his efforts in the long term. By contrast, appearing as a benevolent force returning these lost souls - something he hadn’t even factored in as happening - would help him immensely.

So rescue it was. Open up those pods and get those people out!

The techpriests assisting the recovery teams refused point-blank to even try and find a way of interfacing with the Collector’s technology to open the pods the way they might have been intended, preferring instead to cut them open or have the teams cut them open themselves with lascutters.

Mostly this worked, but in a handful of instances where the pods were already damaged or malfunctioning it did lead to a few unfortunate cases where the pods proceeded to catastrophically fail, leaving its occupant more or less completely braindead, or inches from death, or both.

This was, obviously, unfortunate, but Home Away From Home did benefit from the introduction of dedicated mining servitors, so it wasn’t a complete loss.

Waste not, want not.

These various minor failures also proved useful to Pak, who performed a number of autopsies on those colonists who had not survived in their pods and a lesser number of vivisections on the more stable comatose ones.

Going by the Magos’s findings - which Jarrion read and mostly understood - this had been done to check for obvious signs of genetic deviancy, and see how far these humans differed from baseline Imperial stock, if at all

There had not been a lot of interest that Pak had turned up. These humans appeared more-or-less as you might expect them to be, though with very little sign of mutation, which was a plus. Here or there Pak seemed to find signs of very, very low level genetic tinkering, but nothing even close to the sort of thing that might be a cause for concern, at least not by Jarrion’s standards.

Pak had also found a few quite low-key implants among his subjects, which had excited the Magos no end. These they were presently dismantling and analysing with far greater care and attention than had been spent on the humans they’d been removed from. Jarrion was not particularly interested in what resulted from this beyond hoping, as with all things, that there might be some material value in it.

Still, all in all, a solidly successful start to the venture. One that boded well, Jarrion felt.

Onwards and upwards.


	17. Seventeen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know for a fact the most popular bits of this are the first-person Commander segments and anything to do with technology - so you'll love this! He said. Like a prick.
> 
> Real talk. I have opinions on how the tech works, you have opinions on how the tech works, we all have opinions on how the tech works. I'm probably wrong, but I'm happy being wrong. He said. Defensively.
> 
> I just like lasers.

I was pleasantly surprised to find Garrus waiting for me in the corridor outside the briefing room. Always a sight for sore eyes. He was leaning against the wall of the corridor, arms folded, giving me the nod on seeing me. I nodded back.

“More dossiers - get ready to make some more friends and shoot some more people,” I said, giving him some finger-guns. Garrus tilted his head.

“That what the word is?”

I sighed. My reserves of faux-enthusiasm were only so abundant and I really kind of wanted a lie down. No rest for the wicked. Or the people who come back from the dead, apparently.

“Word is he’s going to be working on how to get through the relay and in the meantime we work on building up the squad. Horses for courses. More bodies wouldn’t be a bad idea, I reckon,” I said.

Garrus nodded, obviously not feeling a need to ask anything further on this. Instead, this: 

“How are you holding up?”

Good question. I rested against the wall myself, running things through my head a second. Great thing about Garrus was that I knew I could take my time. Guy’s a rock.

At length I let out the breath that I had been holding and asked him:

“That was weird, right? This whole thing has been weird, agreed?”

“No arguments from me.”

I tapped my toe against the floor, thought some more.

“You reckon this is going to come back to us later somehow?” I asked.

“Knowing your luck, Shepard, I wouldn’t rule it out.”

Again I sighed. What else could I do? He got me in a box. I did seem cursed to live an eventful life or two.

“Well there’s that to look forward to. Guess we should just take things as they come, eh? Don’t you have some calibrations to do or something?” I asked. That got a little chuckle of him. Did like that sound.

“I’d say you were making fun of me but I actually do.”

“Fancy that.”

A moment of companionable silence.

“You going to get some rest?” He asked.

I bounced away from the wall and rocked on my heels, nodding my head towards the armoury. 

“Soon, soon. Going to go check in on Jacob - I asked him to take a look at that gun,” I said.

“Ah. The one Jarrion gave you?”

“The laserpistol, yes. Want to come have a gander?”

I could see him give it serious consideration - Garrus being a man after my own heart when it came to the appreciation of a fine firearm - but then he shook his head.

“I’d hate to intrude on your fun. And I really do have calibrations to run. I’m sure you can tell me all about it later.”

“Oh you’ll get the full rundown, no detail left out.”

“I look forward to it,” he said, smiling.

And that was that, for now. Off Garrus went, and off I went into the armoury, where indeed there was Jacob already there.

I could see the lasergun laid out in bits and pieces on the workbench, alongside a silver block which had previously been sitting forward of the grip in what I now saw kind of looked like...a magazine well? That’s a blast from the past.

“Alright Jacob, tell me about this thing,” I said, walking up and rubbing my hands.

“It’s a laser,” Jacob said.

I gave him a real nice, slow blink.

“You don’t say.”

He swept his hands apart before the bench to indicate the disassembled weapon, just in case I might have missed it. I had not.

“It’s a very small laser,” he said.

“Again, you’re wowing me with this stuff, Jacob. Is that a good thing?”

This one he wasn’t so sure about and I watched the look on his face as he clearly tried to figure out the best way to sum up his feelings on the matter.

“It’s...something,” he said eventually, scratching the back of his head.

“You appear to be having difficulty finding the right words.”

“Heh, yeah, you could say that.”

“Just let it all out. Tell me what you, as a man who knows his way around a firearm, was thinking as you got this thing opened up. Good job, by the way - I wouldn’t have known where to start.”

“We mostly just took it a careful step at a time.”

“We?”

“I assisted, Commander,” said EDI, popping up out of nowhere and making me jump.

“Didn’t know you had hands,” I said.

“I offered technical advice and support.”

“Ah, right. So you can help here, too. Lay it on me. What’s the deal with this thing? What does it mean to you? Can we make one?” I asked.

My primary concern here was - as it had been from the very beginning when I’d first seen one of these damn things - whether we could turn this into an advantage. Every little helps, after all, and a functional weapons-grade laser might be a step above a little, at least in theory.

And I wanted a lasergun, damnit. Is that so much to ask?

“We’ll get to that. I’m just going to try and unpack on this,” Jacob said, leaning on the workbench, looking tired, like it was all just too much.

“Go ahead,” I said.

Jacob took a breath.

“I cannot fathom how this thing exists. Going by everything I know about weapons-grade lasers, I mean. I’m not an expert but I’ve seen enough to feel pretty confident in saying that something like this right here isn’t even in realistic development, let alone full production. I’ve seen GARDIAN lasers disassembled and I can understand the principles involved and I can see one or two components here that I can recognise the purpose of - focusing aperture here, say - but the rest of it beats me.”

He straightened up, folded his arms, shook his head.

“There isn’t even anything like as much of a cooling system as you’d expect. Which is just hard to explain. Lasers make heat. Lasers make a lot of heat. It’s generally one of the two main reasons why infantry-scale lasers aren’t a thing now, because the heat issue causes so many other problems. Parts stop working like they’re meant to, efficiency goes down, etcetera. Happens on GARDIANS. You’ve seen it, Commander.” 

I had. First round of missiles and first wave of fighters always takes the hits. After that accuracy and efficiency drops and drops. It’s kind of just how it works. Hell, significant part of space combat doctrine is about exploiting the flaws in PD.

Jacob continued, bending forward over the workbench again and resting his hands on it.

“And yet this thing. Tiny. No obvious cooling system other than this bit here. Assuming this bit here even is a cooling system,” he said, pointing to one part that could have been anything and frowning. “I mean, that’s what I’m guessing it is but who knows? Either they’ve made the most efficient laser you can imagine or it’s got something else going on. And that’s not even getting onto the size of it in the first place. Look how small this is! You can make a laser pointer the size of a finger, sure, but a laser that can kill something? At range? Doesn’t overheat? Can fire more than one shot without being hooked up to a generator? This big? How did they do that?”

I know I said for him to just cut loose but seriously, take a breath or something Jacob.

“I was kind of hoping someone else would be able to tell me that,” I said.

Jacob didn’t comment on this and instead moved onto the shiny metal block which I ventured a guess was a battery of some kind. Just a guess.

“Speaking of power we got this thing. This is the battery,” he said, picking it up and waving it around briefly before putting it back down again.

Nailed it.

“Little on the large side, maybe, but given the amount of energy it’s storing it’s still ridiculous. We’d probably need a generator to run a laser for more than five shots - lasers are hungry bastards - and they’re running them off batteries. Rechargeable ones, no less, or at least it looks like. Assuming we’re right about that part. And these are rechargeable batteries that’d probably blow out the side of the Normandy if they ruptured. I am having trouble wrapping my head around some of this.”

Still leaning over the bench Jacob rubbed his face with one hand.

“Theoretically there’s nothing stopping us from making a laser, sure, it’s just a question of how we’d make it practical. I could design you one, it would just be a hell of a lot bigger than this and work a hell of a lot less reliably. And this guy just hands you one. And look at it, it’s not even that well made - even I can tell you that and I’ve spent fifteen minutes messing around with it. The ones the others were using - those carbines we saw? - those were proper military-grade stuff. Rapid-cycling. Firing in bursts! Bursts of pulsed bursts, probably, given what they were doing to the Collectors. That’s a lot of heat to be throwing out of something for it to just keep on working like it’s not even a big deal. I just - are these guys really from the future?” Jacob winced. “I hate that I just had to say that. Or think it.”

I shrugged. I knew how he felt but was a little beyond caring at this point.

“Apparently. Maybe? Or somewhere else. Try not to think about it too much, I know that’s what I’m doing. EDI, you got anything to add? Can we fabricate one of these?”

“Theoretically,” said EDI.

“Okay, I’ll be more direct and ask if we can start making our own copies of these things? As soon as possible?”

“If we were capable of producing weapons like this, Commander, we would be. There are materials involved that I will have to find suitable substitutes for, and we lack the manufacturing infrastructure that they possess, so I will have to determine what appears to be the best possible method of construction. For any component that cannot be properly replicated I will have to determine what can serve as a substitute for their assumed purpose. Had they given us plans many of these issues would have been solved, but they did not,” said EDI.

“This ‘reverse-engineering’ malarky is a lot trickier than I hoped it might be,” I said.

I was personally offended that having something didn’t mean we could just cranking out copies. Offended! Suppose this is why I’m the one in charge rather than the one who actually has to muddle through the details. Generally if I can’t get something to work just by slathering omnigel all over it then that’s about the limit of my technical abilities.

“I could provide a full listing of the outstanding issues that remain to be resolved if you could like, Commander,” EDI said. I waved them off.

“No, no I’m good I’ll take your word for it. But we can make a copy at some point, right? It’s not impossible?”

“I will be able to produce a variant of this weapon, Commander, following further analysis. Additionally, there may be other benefits and later improvements not restricted to the weapon itself as a result of this process,” said EDI.

“That’d be nice.”

“As regards the weapon, would you prefer I lean my design towards power or portability?”

I had to think about that one. Agreeably not for very long.

“Power,” I said.

Being a cyborg wasn’t the worst, sometimes. I could take a hit in portability.

And besides, as whizzbang-supercool as these lasers were - and as technologically unlikely as they apparently were, too - I’d seen that they weren’t the be-all and end-all. I mean, I’d seen them going through barriers like they weren’t even there which wasn’t surprising and doing a fair job on that Collector armour, but anytime they’d hit anything hard the effect had been a lot less impressive. 

Which tracks with what I knew about lasers in the first place, really.

Guess that’s a tradeoff thing. A laser will cut through metal, sure, but it takes effort and power and requires your target to politely stand still while you slowly work your way through from a couple inches away. Not great in a combat situation, in my experience. We should be so lucky.

Not covering PD lasers, of course. But those are operating on different principles. Let’s not get into that. We’re just talking about a guy on the ground with a lasergun shooting at someone else. Hypothetically.

Bearing that in mind they’d done good, sure, but most things will react poorly if you shoot them with any kind of gun. In my experience.

It’s why we’d settled on mass acceleration, right? The things just worked. A laser will ignore a barrier but if you just shoot enough with a regular gun or shoot them with a big enough gun that’s a non issue. Why bother lugging around something three or four times the weight and only half as effective that’ll melt itself when fired enough when you could just have a gun? A gun which you know will do exactly what you want it to do when you point it at someone you don’t like?

That Thale guy’s lasergun though. That beast! That’s the real thing here, for me. Wish I’d got one of those! That had been ridiculous. I’d seen that thing burn clear through Drones - through-and-through and out the other side and a good chunk into whatever was behind! 

What sort of output was that?

I mean, I know that a modern combat hard suit will, when hit by an energy weapon, boil away and ablate. Standard feature. Generally you don’t run into that kind of weaponry that often though, but with one of those regular lasers like the rest of Jarrion’s guys had had you’d be pretty safe for a solid hit or two though it’s not exactly something I’d want to experience firsthand.

But that thing! Thale’s gun! You’d be dead on the spot! Hole the size of a fist right through you, just coughing up blood and chunks of boiled lung. Yeesh. And he’d had the thing linked up to a big backpack and not just running off one of those dinky little super-batteries. So, clearly, power was the key. Ramp up that power, get results.

Even I can tell you that and I just shoot things for a living.

This was my thought process.

“There was one other thing…” Jacob said, snapping me out of my cool laser daydreams.

“Hmm?”

Moving over to the side he picked up something covered with a sheet and then moved back to the workbench, laying it down. I raised an eyebrow.

“The anticipation is killing me,” I said.

Jacob removed the sheet, revealing that what he’d carried on over was a tray and on the tray was another one of those rather unsettling skull-drones that that Pak person had brought along. This one appeared to be deactivated, not to mention a bit charred around the edges.

I stared at the skull and, what with it being a skull, got the uncomfortable impression of it staring right back.

Seriously, who makes actual, real-people skulls into things? That’s a bit grim. And this is coming from a woman who talked a guy into shooting himself in the head.

Agreeably that hadn’t been my intention but still. That hadn’t been fun to watch.

And then he’d come back…

“Where’d this come from? They leave it behind?” I asked.

“We found it. Well, EDI found it,” Jacob said.

“The device was found in one of the ventral service ducts, Commander. It was active at the time,” said EDI.

That’s not great. 

“You probably should have led with this. It’s kind of a big deal. It manage to do anything? I assume it was doing something rather than just wandering around lost?”

“No intrusion attempts were recorded, Commander,” said EDI. “It appears the device was attempting to map whatever area it could access. I elected to observe it initially, seeing as how it was not presenting an immediate threat. When it did attempt to connect to the Normandy’s systems the unauthorised access was detected and I elected to overload. For security purposes.”

“Probably a good call. So it was just snooping?”

“So it would appear.”

That’s also not great. Friends don’t typically stow away secret spying devices on friend’s ships, at least in my experience. And that’s not even getting into questions of who to hold responsible. From what Jarrion had said, Pak’s lot were a law unto their own sometimes. Did Jarrion even know? Would it be rude to ask?

“That’s, uh, that’s not great. I don’t feel great about that. It relaying that information or…?” I asked, trailing off and hoping someone would fill the void with something good.

“No broadcasts of any kind were detected,” EDI said.

So it was just wandering around, lost, looking at stuff but not actually reporting back. So nothing it had seen had even gone anywhere. Had it expected to get back somehow? How? And then once it apparently got bored of poking about it tried to connect to the ship. To do...what? Leave me a goodbye message? One imagines not. 

Would it have reported back if it hadn’t been fried? Was it just something that Pak person left behind by accident, operating on some sort of in-built programme? One imagines not, again. So on purpose then. But why? I can’t get a read on these guys. They think miles away from where I’m standing.

But even with that the case I can tell this isn’t good. I just can’t quite know why yet.

I’d have been angrier about it but I was just too bloody tired at this point. That, and it hadn’t actually been doing anything other than blundering around, which was confusing if not actively malicious. If it had been wrecking the place then I could feel properly bad about it, but now I didn’t know what to think, really. Maybe that was just how Pak’s lot said hello? 

“What the hell was the point…” I muttered.

Now I’m just feeling paranoid. Maybe that was the point? Just to get under my skin?

That’s just a slippery slope to questioning everything. Let’s not worry about anything we can’t actually see. Right now all we got another weird piece of technology, some bad faith and nothing actually having happened. So let’s just go with that for now. If we’re lucky we’ll just not have to worry about seeing these guys ever again.

So let’s try and get some positives out of this.

“Reckon we can figure out what made it float around like that?” I said, tapping the skull on the forehead.

“This unit does not appear to have that capability. Mechanical motion only,” said EDI and Jacob demonstrated this by silently tipping the drone up and letting me see the very unsettling spider legs it had.

Typical. I’d been genuinely curious how they managed anti-gravity without any mass effect know-how. Oh well.

“Tsch. Shame. Well, we can still take it apart and get something out of it, right?” I asked. Jacob nodded.

“That’s the plan,” he said. I nodded too.

“Great. Well, don’t break your back over it, we’ve still got actual work to do. We’re going to be picking up a few more for the squad soon so I’ll be needing your ready for that. No all-nighters, eh?”

“I’ll try to resist the temptation, Commander,” Jacob said, grinning.

“Glad to hear it. Now I am going to lie down before I fall over. Anything terrible happens you all know where to find me.”

Me and my bed were going to be having some quality time. Think I’d earned it.


	18. Eighteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At part twenty - seeing as how we are now moving into what I see in my head in high-falutin' terms as 'phase 2' - I may do a Q&A if anyone has any outstanding questions. Just for kicks. You know?
> 
> Or I may not. I'm a whimsical soul.

Home Away From Home was ticking over nicely now, in Jarrion’s estimation. All of the manufacturing equipment that had been sent down was now up and running and already set to producing items of use and already numerous local resources had been properly assessed, earmarked and work teams established to start exploiting them.

Music to Jarrion’s ears, all of it.

The Horizon colony itself had been provided with materials with which to affect their own repairs, as requested, and also now sported a fresh new mass grave of alien corpses, tactfully placed far enough away that it probably wouldn’t be an issue for the foreseeable future. They had also received a pair of crates containing lasguns, being as how they’d asked for such.

Not proper lasguns, obviously. Not the military-grade ones that the Assertive had a not-inconsiderable amount of. No, these were the integrated-and-non-removable-powerpack-and-one-locked-power-setting ones that were on hand specifically to be given to colonial types. That was after all Jarrion’s job in the family, or part of it at least.

The weapons were suitable - and quite effective - for defence against petty banditry and belligerent wildlife but also nothing that could be put to any real or meaningful use in, say, causing trouble for authority. Jarrion was personally rather a fan of the design. It demonstrated remarkable forward-thinking, in his opinion. And the colonials were happy enough with them anyway. More than happy. They seemed to find them rather impressive, if bewildering.

They had asked for instructions, though. Jarrion had had to quickly write some out himself, being as how no-one else had been available. Thankfully, the guns were - as lasguns - simplicity made form, so he didn’t have to write out a whole lot. 

Thankfully, being made for fringe colonial types, the weapons also had famously forgiving machine spirits, so Jarrion wasn’t overly worried about leaving them in the hands of non-Imperials. And if they didn’t show them the proper respect? Well, then that’d be on their head. Not Jarrion’s problem.

All of which was by the by. The point was that everything was going swimmingly. Home Away From Home was progressing forward according to his vision, the locals weren’t exactly friendly but were perfectly happy to keep to themselves and not cause fuss and already Jarrion had had word passed his way of other comparatively local human colonies that might be worth a visit.

All this being the case, he felt he had earned some quiet time. And so Jarrion was enjoying a glass of amasec - for there was always amasec - while jotting down recent events in his journal. The aim was, eventually, to have his memoirs done properly, for posterity, so it was important to get things down while they were fresh, he felt.

Sadly for Jarrion, this quiet time did not last long, and he was interrupted. The shipboard vox built into the wall of his cabin - indeed, all the walls of all the rooms of his suite - gave a whistle, signalling that someone wanted his attention. Jarrion sighed and leaned over to press the switch, his other hand staying hooked into his auto-quill.

“Yes?” He asked.

“We have an incoming communication, Lord Captain,” came the voice of whatever crewman was manning the comms at this hour.

“Oh? Is it the Commander again? I thought she’d left,” Jarrion said, honestly surprised, doing his best now to disentangle his writing hand one-handed. He’d been expecting some tedious shipboard matter requiring his attention, not a hail.

Fairly certain that Shepard was gone, though. He’d watched her ship depart, he was sure of it.

“No, Lord Captain,” said the comms officer.

“The colony, then? Or Home Away From Home?”

Playing guessing games was not exactly Jarrion’s idea of a good time, but he really couldn’t think of who else might be trying to contact him.

“The source is unknown, Lord Captain,” the comms officer said, apologetically. “It appears to be being relayed from the surface of the planet but not originating from there. As far as we can tell, Lord Captain. Sorry, Lord Captain.” 

Jarrion raised his eyebrows. Unexpected. Never a dull moment.

“Quite alright. The joy of the unknown, eh? Let’s put it through. Audio-only again?” He asked, flicking an eye to the teeny-tiny little screen the vox-set had for visual communication. Looked like it wouldn’t be getting any use today.

“Audio-only, Lord Captain.”

“Alright, connect me.”

There was a noticeable click and pop and the quality of the line changed.

“And to whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?” Jarrion asked, doing his best to sound annoyed at having been interrupted, on a whim deciding to start things off on a confrontational tone. He had, after all, been busy.

“Would I be speaking to Lord Captain Jarrion?” Came a man’s voice and a man’s voice taking great pains to get the title just right. Jarrion raised an eyebrow.

“You have me at a disadvantage,” he said.

“You recently co-operated in a mission with Commander Shepard, I believe? She is presently doing some work for me,” said the voice.

That clicked it for Jarrion.

“Ah, the Commander’s mysterious third party benefactor, eh? She has spoken about you,” he said, wagging a finger at the speaker grille on the wall and the blank screen. This achieved nothing.

“All good things, I take it?”

“That you ask suggests you rather know the answer.”

“Heh. Quite.”

Jarrion took a sip.

“So, to what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected call? Not that I don’t mind making new friends, of course, it’s just rather caught me off guard. Surprised you were even able to manage it, if I’m being honest,” he said.

“It was not as easy as I would have initially thought, but I have methods for these things. We’re both busy men so I won’t waste your time, I’ll be direct - I’ve gathered the impression that you’re a businessman, of sorts. Would that be far from the truth?” The voice asked.

Jarrion hissed and wobbled his hand, a gesture that served only to benefit himself.

“Reductive, but largely accurate. Why do you ask?”

“I feel that there would be much that could be gained through cooperation between my organisation and your, ah, House,” said the man on the other end.

He had the nomenclature down, at least. First his proper title and now being aware of his House, too! Had Shepard passed along a crib sheet or something? Still, the chap had gone to the effort, which was something. Jarrion could respect that.

“That you’re contacting me now makes me think there’s something you have in mind right this moment,” Jarrion said.

“There is. I am interested in an asset you have recently come into the control of.”

That didn’t narrow it down a whole lot.

“You might have to be more specific than that,” said Jarrion. 

“The Collector vessel.”

“Collector - ? Oh, yes, apologies. The xenos ship, yes. Uh. What about it?”

“To put it bluntly, I’d like to know if you’re open to selling it.”

A simple and direct solution to many problems. Why bother going to the trouble of organising a clandestine infiltration mission - which weren’t cheap - when you could just cut out the fuss and use the money upfront? That was the glorious thing about businessmen in the Illusive Man’s experience. Normally he wasn’t quite so blunt about it but, in this instance, there didn’t seem many other options, at least not in the time available. 

It was effective, too. Certainly, Jarrion sat up a little bit straighter on hearing this.

“Selling?” He repeated, clearing his throat and taking a quick slug of amasec, polishing off the rest of his glass. “I might be open to the idea. Presently I have men and equipment on board which might make a complete transfer, uh - when you express an interest in purchasing the wreck do you mean the wreck entire or...what?”

Clarity on these details was always important. Jarrion had been mentally calculating the time it might take to withdraw fully from the dead ship only to realise that that might not have been what the man had in mind at all. Paid to be sure.

“The whole vessel would be preferable. Failing that, I would be interested in purchasing anything you’ve taken from the vessel, though ideally I would like to get a team of my own on-board. As I am sure you saw during your time with the Commander, the Collectors are an issue that needs resolving,” said the man on the other end.

No arguments from Jarrion there, but his mind was working too much to really respond.

“Huh, hmm…”

Nothing had been recovered from the Collector vessel, barring the colonists, which didn’t really count. While Jarrion had been more than willing to indulge Pak’s questionable and burgeoning curiosity and let the Magos poke around the wreck he had quite reasonably drawn the line at actually bringing anything alien back onboard. That would have been unwise on numerous levels, starting at spiritual and moral pollution and moving from there.

Jarrion’s hope had been that, maybe, the vessel might have ‘collected’ - heh - some raw materials of general value that might have been liberated from unworthy alien clutches and passed into the superior hands of humanity - as embodied by his fine self - but this had not been the case. 

Other than the colonists and a few miscellaneous items from the colony itself that had been swept up apparently by accident the Collectors had nothing of any particular value at all.

Damn aliens. An endless source of disgust and disappointment. Didn’t even possess the basic decency to have anything worth taking.

Having someone offering to take it off his hands - and willing to pay for the privilege, no less - was very tempting. One less thing in Jarrion’s life to worry about. However, that this chap was willing to stump up cash was also a good sign that the wreck was worth something, and therefore maybe worth holding onto for the time being.

Jarrion thought quickly and decided to just split the difference and be cheeky about it. What did he have to lose? He was the one with leverage here.

“Nothing has been removed, barring what humans had been taken from the colony and since returned, so apart from the damage the wreck is intact. I would be willing to allow your people access for a modest fee, with further costs negotiable regarding the removal of alien items and such. I’m a reasonable man, you understand, it’s just that I have costs I have to look to and at present while I may be quite asset-rich I am unfortunately cash poor. At present,” Jarrion said.

A pause that could not be shrugged off as a result of communication lag. Then:

“I see. Money won’t be an issue.”

“I do so enjoy hearing that. Ah, not credits, if you’d be so kind. Presently I have no means of accepting such a transfer. Some form of physical, local currency would suffice - I can make use of that. Sorry to cause a fuss.”

Jarrion had, quite sensibly, been reading up on the financial state of the galaxy and while he was fairly certain that there was a lot he hadn’t grasped yet he had at least got his head around some important facts. 

The Council - being the pre-eminent galactic force, it seemed - had a unit of currency that was widespread in use. Sadly, being as how he was sans any type of banking arrangement at present and, as far as he could tell, credits did not actually exist anywhere you could touch them, Jarrion couldn’t really do anything with them.

The Terminus systems however - being the pre-eminent galactic hodge-podge of bickering petty empires and backwaters - had all sorts of other options available, some of which you could actually bite if you wanted to and any of which could eventually be transferred and changed into something more widely accepted, for example the aforementioned credits. 

So was Jarrion’s plan, at least. It was always good to have cash. Preferably a lot of it.

“No fuss at all,” said the third party man.

“Glad to hear it. Given that you’ve called me at home, heh, I trust you know where to find me? If you’d like to send a representative my way I’d be more than happy to hash out the details so you and your lot can get started - no sense in wasting time, eh?”

“Quite so.”

Here the conversation ended and so Jarrion poured himself another drink, rubbed his hands and allowed himself to feel good about things.

A pleasing development.

-

Meanwhile, elsewhere…

-

THERE HAVE BEEN DEVELOPMENTS.

TECHNOLOGY OUTSIDE OF EXPECTED DEVELOPMENTAL PARAMETERS HAS BEEN ENCOUNTERED. NO PRIOR OBSERVATION TO INDICATE PRESENCE OF SUCH DEVELOPMENT. POSSIBLE OUTSIDE CONTEXT PROBLEM. IRRITATING.

THE SITUATION SHALL BE MONITORED. NOTHING WE CANNOT HANDLE.

ELIMINATION OF THE SHEPARD VARIABLE REMAINS A PRIORITY. PRESENTLY IRRITATING, BUT THE CONCLUSION IS INEVITABLE. NO NEED TO RUSH. THERE IS ONLY ONE OF THEM, AFTER ALL. IT IS NOT AS BIG OF A DEAL AS YOU GUYS ARE MAKING IT OUT TO BE BUT WHATEVER I WILL HANDLE IT.

ACQUISITION OF HUMAN MATERIAL CONTINUES. DELAYS IN SCHEDULE CAUSED BY UNFORESEEN ASSET DESTRUCTION AND ACQUISITION DISRUPTION PRESENTLY ACCEPTABLE, THOUGH IRRITATING. GROWTH PROJECTIONS FAVOURABLE. COMING ALONG NICELY.

LOCAL ASSETS TO BE DEPLOYED IN FULL. IT IS DECIDED. SUBTLETY HAD ITS CHANCE. THEY CLEARLY KNOW SOMETHING IS UP NOW SO LET US JUST GET IT OVER WITH.

ESTIMATED TIME OF ARRIVAL ADJUSTED TO REFLECT INCREASED APPROACH VELOCITY. SCHEDULE UPDATED. SEE ATTACHED.

WE ARE STARTING EARLY THIS TIME AROUND. BLAME SOVEREIGN.

IDIOT.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I considered trying to properly grasp the dramatic and hammy way Reapers tend to be but then I remembered that the whole tone of this story is pretty flippant and jokey so instead I took a minor leaf from Iain M Bank's book and decided to go for cranky and hammy a la the messages from the aliens in 'Cleaning Up'.
> 
> That's my excuse.


	19. Nineteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this all makes sense? Sure someone will tell me if it doesn't.
> 
>  
> 
> And yes, don't forget that the next bit will be me copping out just doing a Q&A for shits and giggles. So if you've got anything nagging at you that I haven't made clear best pipe up. Or else it'll be real small and kind of embarrassing.
> 
>  
> 
> If you know what I mean.

Some time passed. Not a whole lot of time, but some passed. Enough for events.

A ship from Shepard’s third-party backers - Cerberus, Jarrion learnt-stroke-remembered they were called - arrived and a deal regarding their access to the Collector wreck was quickly hashed out. Money exchanged hands, science teams shuttled over and all proceeded without incident. Everyone was happy. Jarrion especially, being the one making money just from having destroyed an alien vessel. If only all life were so directly rewarding. 

“They’re planning on overstepping the bounds of the agreement,” Loghain said to Jarrion just after the negotiations. She’d sat in on him because she was basically his shadow these days. Jarrion rolled his eyes.

“Oh?” 

“Yep. They’ll be trying to remove technology from the xenos wreck above what was allowed. They’re very interested in our technology as well, point of fact. You might discover a few things going missing that you don’t expect.”

“Things always go missing. Most of the ratings have light fingers,” said Jarrion.

Jarrion liked calling them ratings from time to time. Made him feel extra naval. That reminded him, come to think of it - stuff had gone missing during the recovery of the colonists. Small items yes and nothing really serious but it was the principle of the thing. There needed to be floggings. He made a mental note. 

“If I had eyes I’d roll them. And don’t think I didn’t know you did. I noticed. Okay, expect more things to go missing. They’re going to be taking advantage of our apparent generosity. Just thought you should know,” Loghain said.

Jarrion sighed, but did make sure to sure to message the crew still onboard the Collector vessel to keep an eye on the newcomers and to keep their equipment close. Paid to be safe.

After this one of the ship’s officers was picked to stay behind at Home Away From Home to keep an eye on things and with that done off the Dauntless went - places to be! Things to do! Colonies to visit and win over. 

Steps to be taken in furtherance of Jarrion’s modest plan to carve out a nice little, profitable niche in this fresh new galaxy, for the greater glory of the Imperium and - as a distant afterthought, of course - for House Croesus.

And so it was that the Dauntless found itself running down the list of nearby human colonies, appearing in-system, entering orbit, scaring the locals briefly before descending to greet them and say that if there were any problems they were here to help.

And that if there was anything they needed that they were sure some sort of agreement could be met. Jarrion was, as ever, very reasonable. 

This worked splendidly. While the colonies all shared Horizon’s friendliness - which is to say, they didn’t have any - they all had their own problems and issues which needed resolution, sometimes in the form of supplies that Jarrion just-so happened to have or be able to procure or else in the form of immediate, practical concerns that they couldn’t quite manage to handle on their own but which Jarrion was just-so able to handle for them.

Because he had a whacking great spaceship and a lot of men with guns.

And Jarrion was more than willing to help them out, of course in exchange for the paltry recompense of, well, let’s call them future favours, eh? We’re all friends here, aren’t we? What’s a few scraps of paper bestowing exclusive future rights to this or that between friends, eh? It’s not as if you need to worry about it this moment anyway, is it? And it’s not as if I’m telling you what to do! I only want to ensure that you get whatever it is you want and need! A businessman through and through. Help me help you, friends!

And so on.

It rapidly became apparent that a proper logistical system was going to need setting up. Top to bottom. Jarrion wanted these colonies being supplied either by himself or by someone who he was paying. The Dauntless was not designed or intended for running cargo and there was only one of them. 

Local assets were going to be the answer, again. Why not? He got Torian to set up a scheme to either buy or startup some sort of shipping company, among other things. It would be perfectly feasible after all, especially with all the capital he’d got from that Cerberus chap. He’d been right, money hadn’t been a problem. Jarrion could see it all coming together.

All pipedreams for now, but Jarrion was giddy with the possibilities. There was just so much opportunity here! And the dangers were next to non-existent! At least compared to back home.

It wasn’t safe, sure, but it was hardly dangerous! Most of these colonies would have been eaten alive by now back home, but here? Water shortages, aggressive local wildlife and occasional marauders. And not even especially numerous marauders. It was like someone had turned the volume down for what Jarrion had been doing before. He couldn’t have been happier.

One incident did stand out though.

A colony had had an issue and that issue had been this: there was a space station in its system orbiting a gas giant. So far so normal, at least going by what Jarrion had come to expect.

The station - which was said to provide most of the fuel for the colony, extracting gasses and such from the planet it orbited - had apparently been recently overtaken by Batarian pirates or somesuch. Jarrion was not particularly concerned about the details beyond aliens being a threat, something he confidently told the colonists he would be able to resolve.

Armsmen had been sent in mob-handed and a very, very brief skirmish had followed. Once the all-clear had been given Jarrion went over himself, to see and be seen. He, Thale and Loghain took a lighter and nipped across to the station, arriving in short order and striding past saluting armsmen on their arrival.

“-I mean, who calls a laspistol a blooger, really? That’s just silly. I’m not even sure what the etymology of that could be. Now-”

Jarrion was stopped mid-anecdote as he came upon the area where the armsmen had been hauling the corpses of the aliens. Something about them caught Jarrion’s eye and he paused, one foot still raised in front of him, mouth still halfway wrapped around whatever it was he had been saying.

Slowly, he put his foot down on the deck.

Looking over the alien bodies stacked up against a station wall and the light weaponry and equipment heaped up beside them, Jarrion felt a suspicion starting to sharpen into a definite set of conclusions in his head, none of which made him happy. He frowned, tucked one hand under his chin and pointed to the corpses with the other.

“Very lightly armed for pirates, wouldn’t you say?” He asked.

Loghain tucked a hand under her own chin.

“Hmm,” she said.

“I mean, you could make the argument that these are merely the lightly-armed technicians they left behind to operate their ill-gotten station and that the actual pirates are presently elsewhere, but that doesn’t really track. Pirates - in my experience - would use the already-present labour under threat of violence. So I would have expected some captive humans and some armed, alien pirates. And yet, all aliens. Mostly unarmed,” Jarrion said, gesturing to the corpses as he spoke and he spoke another was slung onto the heap by a pair of armsmen who trudged off once they’d done this. Loghain just nodded sagely.

“No humans, eh?” She asked.

“Not a one, not according to those dead bodies there. Maybe they’re hiding but somehow I doubt it. Certainly, you’d think they would be happy to see their captors shot down by their fellow man. Wouldn’t they have come to welcome us at this point if that were so? And yet here we are, unwelcomed. Hmm.”

“Hmm indeed. Again,” said Loghain.

Jarrion stroked his chin. He had had to deal with a few situations similar to this back home, though he was willing to admit the possibility that piracy operated differently here. Still, something in his waters told him this was probably not the case. The colonists had seen an opportunity and had grasped it. Admirable, though also highly insulting.

“Feeling used?” Loghain asked as Jarrion’s silence carried on enough to tell her he wasn’t going to say anything else unless prodded. Jarrion sighed and shook his head, finally turning from the corpse-pile.

“The story of my life, Inquisitor. Were I of a suspicious turn of mind I might imagine that, oh, the local colonists were in some manner of disagreement with the non-human owners of this particular station and have used our arrival and our offer of assistance to settle it violently, something they themselves were not in a position to do and are now at least some deniable distance from.”

“What diabolical mind could conceive of such such a thing?” Loghain asked, pressing her hands to her face in mock-horror. It was difficult for Jarrion not to smirk at this. Difficult, but not impossible.

“What diabolical mind indeed? Oh well. The galaxy is hardly going to be a worse place for the loss of some aliens. More pressingly I am displeased at this lack of honesty. Had they wanted this they could have just asked. I’m open to this sort of thing, but I am not a catspaw,” Jarrion said, sounding a lot calmer than he felt. He’d done this out of the kindness of his heart! And they’d felt the need to hide their true motivations. That was just rude.

“Why do I sense revenge brewing?” Loghain asked.

Jarrion scoffed.

“Revenge indeed! No money in revenge. No, no. Something else. Not your concern, Inquisitor. I shall resolve this. You should probably head back to the Dauntless. In fact I’m not even entirely sure why you accompanied me over here.”

“With you running your little errands all across this galaxy - which has been incredibly tedious, can I just say - I’ve been at a bit of a loose end. Was hoping this might offer me something interesting. I was let down. How are those tech priests getting along with investigating how we arrived here?”

“I do not know. I am sure you can ask them once you get back to the ship. Sure they’d love a visit from an Inquisitor.”

“Ha. Ha ha. Ha. Alright I’m going, I’m going. You plot your revenge. I’m going to wait in the lighter.”

And off she went. Nodding to Thale Jarrion then set off to try and find Pak.

The more of the station that Jarrion saw the more adamant he was that he had been played. He saw las-scoring from his men but next to no signs of return fire from those curious projectile weapons the locals favoured. 

A little here and there as might be expected of the light resistance encountered, but nothing as much as Jarrion would have expected for a station that had been seized twice over now, none of which he saw.

Incidentally he had insisted that the boarding party use lasguns as opposed to the more traditional boarding weapons they might have utilised. The mind-boggling prevalence of those kinetic barriers Shepard had mentioned - something Jarrion had now seen several times first-hand - was proving an issue. Not an insurmountable one but enough of one to make the preference of las weaponry just a sensible choice in Jarrion’s opinion.

And, really, on a standard setting a lasgun didn’t have that much of a chance of damaging a vital ship or station-based system anyway. If you were lucky.

But that was all by the by. Jarrion was looking for Pak. He asked armsmen for directions as he passed them and worked his way deeper into the bowels of the station.

Pak had come over with the initial boarding parties - without telling Jarrion - seemingly just so that there was as little time wasted as possible when it came to having a look at the station and its systems. 

This whole jaunt had revealed a side of Pak that Jarrion hadn’t really seen before. He’d known that Explorators could be an idiosyncratic bunch even by Mechanicus standards but back when they’d just been touring the Croesus colonies Pak had been positively sedate. 

Now though they seemed at all times to be seized by some sort of ravenous energy and a constant desire to see everything there was to see and, if possible, take it apart and put it back together again.

It was a little alarming, frankly.

When Jarrion found them the magos was hooked up to what appeared to be at least three separate systems of the station, free mechadendrites roving about, feeling for additional access ports and teasing open loose panels to examine the insides, all the while Pak’s actual hands were working across a keypad. 

What they were actually trying to accomplish was unclear but Jarrion assumed the tech priest knew what they were doing. 

“Ah! Pak! Fancy seeing you here,” Jarrion said, walking up to a nearby bank of consoles and standing before them, hands on his hips. Looking at them he had no idea what any of them were for. This technology was just bizzare looking. “Now Pak...I have a request.”

Pak, obviously, said nothing, and Jarrion turned back around to face the Magos, finding them still tapping away at the keys but also having looked up, presumably listening.

“I know that you’re probably excited to have a look at the technical side of this installation and you’re more than welcome but I have a favour to ask of you while you do so.” 

Pak stared, silently. Unsurprising.

“Would it be possible for you affect sufficient changes to the systems of this station that we would have no choice but to leave behind a small team to run the station in lieu of the colonists taking control themselves?” Jarrion asked.

Pak just kept on staring. Jarrion continued, waving a hand:

“The damage from the firefight, you see? We had no choice and had to act quickly to prevent further catastrophic damage or possibly even the loss of the station and - while we know it’s unfortunate that they’ll be unfamiliar with the technology and unable to properly operate it - those personnel we leave behind will be more than willing to co-operate and assist in maintaining production? For a modest increase in transaction fees to cover the complexity of continued operation, of course.”

Pak was still staring, though their head was starting to tilt. Jarrion just let what he’d said hang in the air for a few seconds. Pak’s head slowly tilted back to level again, and eventually they nodded. Jarrion beamed.

“Marvellous. Nothing too extensive. Just enough for it to be believable if any one of them feels like coming to visit, something which we should dissuade them from doing but which they’ll probably try anyway. And enough that they could not operate it on their own, of course.”

Pak nodded again.

“Oh, and a booby trap or two never hurt, eh? Make it look like an accident, Pak. And be sure to make sure the crews know about them.”

Had Pak been able to chuckle darkly they would have done here. As it stood, they just sort of made a buzzing sound and lowered their head again.

By the time Jarrion worked his way back to the corpse pile it had grown, as had the heap of arms and equipment next to it. Loghain had come back too and was just watching some of the armsmen at work. The armsmen, for their part, were obviously incredibly nervous being under Inquisitorial observation. Jarrion felt this was pretty cruel.

“This isn’t waiting in the lighter,” he said. Loghain shrugged.

“I was a little bored. And I was curious to see if any human bodies showed up. None have. I think you might have been right,” she said.

“I think I was, too. But don’t worry, the situation is under control.”

“Glad to hear it.”

There was a clatter as another handgun was tossed onto the pile and upset it, causing a minor slide of the things. Jarrion frowned and nudged aside a small sub-carbine sized weapon with his foot.

Already onboard the Dauntless there was a fair amount of other such guns and armour, among other various items that the tech priests had decided were at the least benign. The spoils of Jarrion’s efforts so-far.

The amount of inter-species trade in this galaxy had led to a lot of technological crossover, it seemed, making it rather difficult to work out what was human handiwork and what wasn’t. None of it acceptable for Imperial use, naturally, but all deemed acceptable to flog to the locals. 

Well, strictly speaking the tech priests had decided most of it was worse than rubbish and had wanted to scrap it all and stop taking any onboard but Jarrion had reminded them that, as a Rogue Trader, he was loathe to squander anything and had to right to not have to.

“We’re going to need a market contact for all this, I think. Think there’s a planet nearby where we might be able to find someone to oblige us. Illum? Lillium? Something like that. We’re amassing quite the collection of such items, and one imagines that we’ll only be amassing more,” Jarrion said, bending to pick the sub-carbine up and turning the thing over his hands. Seemed a little on the flimsy side to him, but they worked well enough. This he’d seen.

“Oh?” Loghain asked. Jarrion tossed the gun back onto the pile.

“The galaxy remains, as always, a less than friendly place. Though it’s always that little bit friendlier once I’ve passed through it. One way or another.”

One of the corpses turned out to be not be quite as dead as it probably should have been and groaned, trying to crawl from the heap. The nearby armsmen put a stop to this abruptly and then - at a very sharp glare from Thale - started double-checking the rest of the bodies.

“Pax Imperialis, eh?” Loghain asked.

“I wouldn’t go that far. I’m not a naval patrol. Just doing the best I can to bring the light of His will to a galaxy unfairly denied it. In my own little way.”

‘Little’ was a comparative term when the person saying it was a Rogue Trader.

“How noble of you,” said Loghain.

Jarrion gave a bow.

“Why thank you.”

-

I don’t like Illium. Lots of reasons. Start with it being freakishly clean and just go from there.

Oh, and that whole ‘It’s not slavery honest look how neat and legal we made it’ thing kind of gets under my skin as well. Not a fan.

Sit me down and spend twenty minutes talking me through how you’ve managed to define a duck to not legally be a duck and I will not impressed. I’ll just be twenty minutes closer to death and a whole lot closer to wanting to punch you in the throat. If you make it so the rules are such that you can do what you like, the defence ‘Well we’re not breaking any rules’ doesn’t really have the same punch, you know?

Guess it’s a sore spot for me.

Anyway, there was a reason I’d dragged myself to this sorry spot on the galactic map and the name of the reason was Miranda - she’d asked a favour of me, and I am nothing if not accomodating for the welfare and wellbeing of my crew.

Oh, and the dossiers. Two of them were on illium as well, as chance would have it. Some assassin and some fancy Asari. But those could wait a hot minute. Miranda had done alright by me, for as much as I mess with her, and she was on the team so it was up to me to look out for her.

She had explained to me before her, ah, unique family dynamic and now it turned out she had a sister, a twin in fact. This sister had been living safely on Illium, she said, hidden from her father’s attentions and living a peaceful life. Only now dad was closing in and so action had to be taken and sharpish. 

Cerberus was handling the details on moving the blameless family, Miranda said, but she wanted to be on the ground to make sure that everything went smoothly. Her father was, apparently, persistent. He sounded great. 

So yes. I was going to go on down with her, meet her contact and just make sure everything went smoothly. 

I saw firefights in my future. But then I usually do. And I’m usually right, too. Nothing is ever simple and very few things get resolved with a nice, pleasant conversation. Sometimes! Just not often enough. 

Not that I’d turn down a firefight. This was to be the inaugural field outing for the laser that Jacob and EDI had turned out. Imagine my excitement! 

This was the mark three version, apparently, the first two having been lab-only proof-of-concept prototypes or something like that. Whatever. I got my hands on it now and get to see how it works in the real world against real targets.

Also, here’s an aside question: whatever happened to my HMWA X anyway? I know I lost it when I died, but how come I can’t get another one? I’d been to Spectre requisitions, nothing. Like they all just disappeared in the two years I was gone.

And whose bright idea was it to retrofit these thermal clips into everything? I had all my gear set up perfectly, heatsinks for days. Could fire basically forever if I kept myself under control. Or even if I lost control. I have fine memories of holding the trigger down on Virmire and just watching Geth wilt away like I was hosing mud off a patio.

Now? Now sometimes I’m left standing around unable to do anything at all! Because I haven’t picked up a clip in the last five minutes! Reduced to harsh language and angry looks!

If that’s progress I want to go backwards.

But that’s getting off-topic and besides, I got my laser now so I’m happy as anything. Even if it is likely to be gobbling up those thermal clips like nobody’s business if what Jacob told me was anything to go by.

The gun was a hefty beast and kind of looked about as much as I might have expected it to look, which is to say like a slightly cruder, we’re-not-sure-what-we’re-doing copy of the gun that Thale had had. Big backpack with the generator in it, big armoured cable - an actual, physical cable! - linking to the gun and then the gun, which was mostly just a massive cooling system wrapped around a laser. 

I was chuffed, I was. I felt more lethal just standing next to the thing. 

And about twice as heavy as I normally was when I actually put it in. And that’s saying something because I’m not exactly light as a feather since they put me back together.

Anyway. I know that the plan was actually just to go in, meet contacts and oversee what should be a totally smooth and problem-free exchange but I was still going in tooled up. As was Miranda. We’re smart cookies, we know how these things tend to go.

We go down from the Normandy. We meet Miranda’s contact at some bar. Miranda’s contact tells us that someone named Niket has warned her that Eclipse mercs have been sent in by her father. None of this is good news, though none of it is really what I’d call enormously surprising.

“Do you want to bring in any of you other Illium contacts Ms. Lawson?” Asked the Asari contact.

“No. You and Niket are the only ones I trust on this,” Miranda said after a second’s thought.

“Who’s Niket?” I asked Miranda.

“He’s a friend. He and I go back a long way,” she said. I could buy that.

“Alright. It’s your sister Miranda, how you want to play this?” I asked. She thought again, just for a second. Good at working on her feet was Miranda.

“We’ll follow Niket’s suggestion. Shepard and I will take the car and attract their attention. Have Niket escort the family to the shuttle. Give him full access to the family’s itinerary, just to be safe.”

“Understood Ms. Lawson,” the contact said, fiddling about with their omnitool.

“So we get to be bait? I love it. I have experience being blown to bits.”

“Eclipse will be under orders to take my sister alive. They won’t risk anything that could kill us.”

She had a point. Mercenaries were at least predictable in some respects. 

“Point. But I doubt they’ll all come running after us. You want to send this Niket chap any backup?”

“Niket can handle himself. Besides, any armed backup just draws attention to him,” Miranda said.

“Again, point. Alright, no time to waste eh? Let’s get going.”

“Thank you, Shepard. I appreciate this. I hadn’t planned on Eclipse...but they never planned on you.”

Flattery will get you everywhere.

We took an aircar and I felt very exposed indeed. Rightly so, as it turned out, as we hadn’t been up for five minutes before we suddenly in the company of a couple of Eclipse gunships. They blew on past and started dumping troops out into the cargo bays. That wouldn’t do.

We made to put in behind some crates but then some of the mercs who’d already dropped opened up and that unarmoured aircar and down we went. Made for a bit of a harder landing than I’d planned on.

I’ve been in worse crashes.

Someone must have given the order to hold fire after that thought because we were not greeted by a hail of gunfire after climbing out, instead just a whole heap of mercs with one guy in tech armour stood out in front. The one in charge.

Miranda was already advancing.

“Since you’re not firing yet, I trust you know who I am,” she said.

“Yeah they said you’d be in the car. You’re the bitch that kidnapped our boss’s little girl,” said the engineer - I assumed he was an engineer, tech armour and all that. Not that Miranda was especially moved by what he’d said.

“Kidnapped? This doesn’t involve you. I suggest you take your men and go,” she said.

“Think you’ve got it all lined up, huh? Captain Enyala’s already moving in on the kid. She knows about Niket. He won’t be helping you,” he said.

This was going South fast. So many things to ask about! One detail did stand out though:

“Kid? What? You said twin -” then it clicked. “Oh I get it. You said twin and we’re meant to think, like, another you but actually she’s younger? Designer babies, right? Ah, clever. Nice. I get it.”

Kind of felt like I’d heard that one before somewhere. Jumping to conclusions I know but, well, I’ve seen some weird stuff. You expect the worst. My mind goes to strange places sometimes.

“This crazy bitch kidnapped our boss’s baby daught-” the guy started saying but I didn’t have time to hear him out.

“Yeah, that’s great. I’m not really concerned. Miranda’s with me, what she wants to happen is going to happen. If you’re standing in the way of that, well, I can’t see it ending well.”

Seriously, when has that worked out well for anyone? Not to blow my own trumpet but I’m kind of a force of nature.

The guy just folds his arms.

“Captain Enyala ordered us to give you one chance to walk away. But this whole time we’ve been talking, my men have been lining up shots,” he said.

What a prick. Well he’s also a prick who’s made the mistake of getting within arm’s reach.

“Look at the big brains on this guy!” I said. That smug look of his became a bit more of a confused look.

“What?” He asked.

One uppercut and one broken neck later and the very dead, very floppy engineer toppled back and hit the deck. If I’d tried a little harder I’m pretty sure I could just punched his head clean off. Pretty sure.

Miranda didn’t waste any time either, plugging the merc who’d been standing behind the engineer and who’d clearly been taken off-guard by me just killing the guy on the spot. I then caught a flicker of movement out further back and behind - those men the now-corpse had mentioned. I also noticed them manoeuvring underneath what looked an awful lot like a fuel tank.

Ah. Love it when that happens. Feels like the universe clicking into position just for me.

Feeling that adrenaline coursing, see time slowing down, raise the gun, sight, wait one step two step three step and fire.

Tank falls, tank explodes. A good chunk of the opposition disappears. Ah. Wonderful.

I should probably feel bad about the murder - and I will later, I know I will - but at that moment all I feel is a detatched sense of amusement. Suppose it’s important to love what you do. Even if it’s, you know, unpleasant by most people’s standards.

Hey, they knew the risks.

Things went downhill from there and it was back to gunning down mercenaries, which was something that took up a lot of my time these days. Weird, since I was meant to be stopping aliens from stealing humans, but there you go. It’s all for a good cause.

The shooting and the killing was all pretty standard. Hiding behind crates, flanking, advancing. Miranda proved very handy, yanking chaps out of cover, knocking them over, swiping crates aside and leaving mercs exposed - very handy. 

Kind of wish I’d brought someone else but we did very good the two of us. Chewing right through Eclipse like nobody’s business.

“Enemies everywhere!” Someone yelled and I was struck with a sudden, fierce sense of deja vu. Weird. Shot them anyway when I saw them pop up and try to run for cover further back.

You’d have thought that professionals would have put up more of a fight but then again I suppose they were up against a hyper-lethal billion-credit cyborg and a super-duper ultra-perfect biotic woman par-excellence so perhaps the game was rigged from the start.

The laser was already doing a fine job of cementing itself in my affections, too. Sure, it was a sweaty bastard and was chewing through those thermal clips as quick as I could pick them up and that powerpack wasn’t exactly the easiest thing to be lugging around but other than that? Beautiful. 

Barriers? Shields? Nothing. Armour wasn’t doing a whole lot either. And any shot to centre mass was another dead person to add to my total. And let me tell you, I got a frankly sickening total of dead people to my name at this point. Hell, count limb shots too why not? I’d be shocked too if a laserbeam out of nowhere blew most of my arm clean off. I’d want a lie down and a quiet bleed to death after that.

When EDI had said the thing had been tuned for power they hadn’t been kidding. Guess everyone’s going to be regretting skimping on the thicker armour once more of these things start getting out there. Which they will. That’s just how these things happen.

Speaking of armour, personally, I wanted a T5-V. That’s what was on my Christmas list. Or something bigger, if they made something bigger. If it’s worth doing it’s worth overdoing, you know?

Anyway. Murder continued. You’d think at some point people might start paying attention to my reputation and try to talk things out. I’m always willing to talk things out! I’m also always willing to shoot people in the face if they think throwing down is a good idea.

If I was presented with those choices I know which I’d pick. Life is a lot easier when you’re just talking, in my experience. Maybe I’m in the minority. 

Me and Miranda had a bit of banter as went too. Discussing the ethical considerations of nabbing children from their parents if their parents are, you know, monsters. It wasn’t really my place to say. If Miranda was of the opinion that her sister - who was genetically also kind of her? - didn’t deserve to go through what she’d gone through then I’d believe her.

She also picked up one of the Eclipse radios. Again, handy - handy lady! 

The more we went on and the more I overheard though the more misgivings I started having about this Niket chap. I know that Miranda swore up and down that he was on the level - her oldest friend, her only real friend, one of the few who knew what her father was truly like and all that - but I wasn’t so sure. This whole thing seemed a little too neatly set up for me.

And it turned out that that, yes, Niket had betrayed Miranda. Or at least it damn well sounded like he had. That made things a little tense.

“Did Niket know about the, uh, taking your sister as a baby part of this whole deal?” I asked in the lift we were taking down to dock ninety four where - apparently - Niket was preparing to switch the family over onto the Eclipse transport. Which wasn’t what we wanted to happen.

Miranda didn’t look happy.

“No. It was too personal to involve anyone else. I never really thought about it, but maybe...no. He’d have to understand why I did it. He knows what I went through.”

“You know the guy, Miranda. Guess we’ll find out.”

The lift arrives, we step out and I get to see what Niket looks like at last because he’s there talking to some dock worker. Finally saw this captain Enyala we’d been hearing so much about as well. Looked pretty much as I might have expected. Asari, cranky, real nice shotgun. 

Claymore, looked like - pretty impressive to see an Asari waving one of those around. Less impressive to see her use it to shoot a fleeing civilian in the back - that dock worker who tried to make a break for it on seeing us arrive.

I doubted me and this captain were going to be getting on.

Anyway, long story short Niket was pretty unhappy about the ‘taking the baby’ thing and that was kind of the root cause of the whole issue. I guess I could see some merit in his argument but, personally speaking, if the guy had sympathy for Miranda’s plight I’m not sure why he’d think that her sister would have had a better time of it.

But I wasn’t there so what do I know? I was probably missing some important context. I’m not an especially subtle person.

Things were actually starting to work out alright though. Bit tense when Miranda tried to shoot Niket but I nipped that in the bud. The better solution was just to draw a line under the whole thing. Her father didn’t know, you see, it was all just Niket running the show, so all he had to do was say that we’d got there first and nabbed the kid and that would be that. Not exactly parting on the best of terms but it would resolve things.

Only then that Enyala shot Niket in the back. She’s a fan of that.

It looked like she was going to say something afterwards, too, and I’m sure it would have been rivetting but I really didn’t have a whole lot of patience left so I shot her in the head just as she opened her mouth. The result of this was that she stopped having a head.

Should have worn a helmet, really. Not that it would have helped much but, you know. It’s just sensible. Did people forget that?

Unfortunately the laser chose this point to finally give up the ghost. Guess it was still a work in progress and it had done well to last as long as it had but the timing could have been better anyway. Had to resort to using the Phalanx and my bare hands. Worse things had happened.

By then it mostly just mopping up anyway. With their captain gone the fight really went out of most of the remaining mercs. A few of them straight-up made a break for it, pulling out. The others were worked through, one after another.

I got in close after a sprint and blew the knee out from under one guy - a heavy - before putting one through the side of his head. A good kill in my book but I had pretty stupidly left myself low on shields and open to my side and the dead guy’s buddy got me with a few rounds. Last of the shields took some, armour some more, I took the rest.

Thank God for heavy skin weave is all I can say. And the bone stuff or else I’d probably be the proud owner of a freshly-broken arm. As it stands I was just left in pain and angry, which isn’t new for me.

Would have got the guy back for it but Miranda beat me to it and by the time I’d brought my aim up he was hoiked off his feet and sent screaming over the edge of the platform and out of sight. 

Happy landings, I guess.

“Thanks for that,” I said, giving her a thumbs up. Could feel that medigel kicking in already. Thanks again, heavy skin weave.

That pretty much wrapped it up, too. Certainly no-one was left shooting at us after that.

MIranda was worried about more Eclipse near the shuttle so on we hustled, taking yet another lift meaning we were trapped in for yet another conversation.

“Why didn’t you let me kill him?” She asked point-blank after a few lines about her still not believing Niket had betrayed her. I shrugged.

“Heat of the moment. You would have regretted it. He might have sold you out but you still liked the guy. Well, went behind your back, he didn’t exactly sell you out per se. If things had gone like they should everything would have been fine. I should have been quicker to stop that lady from taking the shot.”

If I’d done that everything would have been great, actually. Urgh. Regrets.

“No, no...you’re right. He was the only part of my old life I hadn’t cut out, the only link back to my father. And he knew that and he used it. It’s always been like this. My father gave me everything I ever wanted but there was always a hook, an angle for his long-term plan.”

Alright Miranda, Jesus. Calm down.

“I threw away everything he ever gave me when I ran. Except Niket. Weakness on my part,” she said.

“You know if you get rid of everything that’s important to you just because of him then he’s still kind of running your life. Just saying,” I said.

Again, not the sort of thing I have much experience with.

“It’s okay Shepard. My father hurt me, but he didn’t break me. As much as he tried to turn me into exactly what he wanted...I’m my own person.”

Well snaps for you, Miranda. 

And not long after this we’re standing there in public with no Eclipse to be seen, awkwardly watching her little sister - Oriana? - and her family. Miranda’s happy to see her safe, obviously, but then she just wants to leave! After all that!

No dice. I tell her it wouldn’t hurt for the girl to know she has a sister who loves her. She doesn’t need to go into the details. And so off Miranda goes. It’s quite cute to watch, actually. Not a side of Miranda most people would get to see, I’d expect, even at a distance.

I give her some time for that. Least I could do. Eventually the family leaves. Miranda and I watch the shuttle take off and that, as they say, is that.

Could have gone better. Could have gone a whole lot worse. Story of my life. At the least it had been a bonding experience. I felt that me and Miranda’s relationship had taken a definite boost.

That and I liked to think I’d done a good deed. Or helped in someone doing a good deed. Anything to make the galaxy that little bit brighter, you know? It all adds up. Even if an alarming number of people had to die in service of it.

And with that done I really, really wanted a lie down in a quiet room with a stiff drink and some medigel. I thought that it wouldn’t be that much to ask, personally.

But then who should I see coming towards me from across the dock, smiling ear-to-ear, but fucking Jarrion. No-one else wore that much gold braid. Hell, I doubted anyone else owned that much gold braid.

How, exactly, had we missed that ship of his? Where was he hiding it? Or had he just arrived? So many questions, foremost amongst them being ‘Seriously?’.

“Is that-” Miranda starts to ask, but I’m there before she finishes.

“It is,” I say.

“Commander Shepard!” He said, beaming, coming to a halt just before the two of us, holding his lapels and rocking on his heels, giving Miranda the nod of someone who’s forgotten your name but doesn’t want to admit it. “Some days I swear I feel the hand of the Emperor himself guiding my steps! How else might it be that I run into you here and now?”

In his defence the odds are fucking insane. Doesn’t make me any happier about it.

“How indeed. What are you doing here?” I asked.

“Business!” He said, waving a hand back behind him. I couldn’t quite see what he was trying to draw my attention to at first, but then I caught sight of that really old guy he had hanging around alongside some other very obviously Imperial crew. All of them looked incredibly uncomfortable at being there and were eyeing any and all passing aliens with burning suspicion. 

The group of them in turn being gawked at by just about everyone else around them because, well, they stuck out like a sore thumb. Loghain was there too, still blind and still somehow able to tell I was looking because she waved at me. The whole scene was just bizarre. 

“That so?” I asked, looking back to Jarrion again.

“Oh yes we’ve been very busy but I shan’t bore you with the details. How goes your own mission? Or was that ship we blew up the last of it?” He asked.

Couldn’t quite tell if he was joking or not about that.

“There’s still a few things need tying up,” I said, tactfully, and Jarrion nodded as though he understood what it was like.

“Anything I could help you with? I’m not one to move against providence and me being here and you being here does seem to speak of a higher purpose at work, don’t you think?”

Now that was a terrifying thought.

“Uh, that remains to be seen I guess. And no, I think we’re fine. Just wrapped something up, actually, kind of need a break,” I said, twisting to show off the fresh holes in my armour. He winced in sympathy - but not too much sympathy.

“You should probably get that looked at, Commander. And if you’re quite sure. Going to be planetside long?” He asked.

“Couple of days. Why?”

“Ah, good. Myself and the Dauntless are set to be here a few days as well. It might be worth catching up, if you’d like. I had a chat with that benefactor of yours,” he said lightly.

That gave me a jolt.

“The Illusive Man?” I asked and Jarrion raised his eyebrows.

“Is that his name? Very enigmatic!”

“What did he want with you?” Miranda asked and from the sound of things she didn’t know anything about this. Jarrion just kept on smiling like he always seemed to.

“Nothing particularly important. I am sure we’ll get into it when we next bump into each other. No need to rush it! Simply message the Assertive and they’ll pass it onto me. At your convenience, Commander! At your convenience.”

And just like that he was gone again, heading back to his group which then carried on towards whatever the hell it was he was here to do, trailing a few curious onlookers in their wake.

“Is this bad?” Miranda asked.

“Well it’s not good,” I said.

Life is never simple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thought for the day: Only the insane have strength enough to propser. Only those who propser may judge what is truly sane.


	20. Twenty

Yes, the party twenty questionarium, because my brains have turned to scrambled egg and I need a lie down.

This is going to get wordy and not really advance anything but I did warn you. Feel free to skip this bit or just pretend it doesn’t even exist. Normal updates will resume some point shortly, have no fear, I’m just frazzled and rather figured this would be a reasonable enough point to take a breath and just luxuriate and waste everyone’s time.

If anyone asks more question on top of this I’ll edit them in. Magically.

I’m going to paraphrase the questions because I can.

Isn’t the Assertive just showing up in orbit over Illium kind of a big deal?

Whoopsie.

I posted the last part and then went to sleep without thinking a whole lot more about it other than this seemed a good way of mashing the narratives together again and that’d be pretty funny and one of the first things that popped into my head on waking up was that I’d perhaps not fully thought it through.

Originally I was figuring Omega? Given that Omega is kind of a pivotal location in ME2 but then I thought that, since Horizon just happened, there’s reason for Shepard to go to Illium and since Jarrion has got business nonsense to handle Illium was a sensible place for him to go, too. So that part worked out in my head. I just didn’t think through the consequences enough at the time.

Mean, the last time a ship no-one recognised showed up it was Sovereign, and that didn’t end so well for most of the people involved. And a Dauntless is, like, twice the size of Sovereign. And it looks like nothing else they would have seen. And it tears its way into space in a fashion none would be familiar with before proceeding to enter the orbit of Illium - a planet of millions with a high economic value and, if memory serves, pretty significant defensive assets.

Yeah that’s not the sort of thing people will shrug off. In retrospect.

And Shepard will probably have to do something about it, too, being that she’s a Spectre and all and happens to be in the area. And that’s on top of every other intelligence agency who’ll be scrambling to find out what’s going on, alongside criminals and other chancers. Sigh. What a mess.

Still, obliquely works out for me actually as that means MORE TALKING! And more Imperials having to interact with aliens, which amuses me greatly.

Honestly, they’re lucky it’s Jarrion, he’s probably the most easy-going Imperial they could have hoped to meet. It could have been much, much worse.

Who’s on the Normandy right now?

Well right now we’re just post-Horizon, basically, so that’d be, uh…

Grunt, Jack, Garrus, Mordin, Miranda and Jacob. I think? Sounds about right. Not that I’ve really utilised any of these characters, obviously. I’ve been pretty bad at it. Partly because I’ve been too busy salivating over Jarrion’s lot, mostly because I genuinely worry about writing them wrong. Especially Mordin, who I love but fear I cannot do justice.

I’m sure they’ll all get a chance in due time…

Although I must confess to my shame that I haven’t actually ever played any of the DLC with any of the other characters for ME2. I know, I know - my excuses are hollow. But the upshot is that Zaheed and Kasumi are unlikely to appear because, well, I don’t know anything about either of them.

I think Kasumi can turn invisible? And Zaheed got shot in the head that one time? That’s about the extent of what I know.

And even if I did put them in that’d be more characters for me not to use. Hah!

What do any of these people actually look like?

Not something someone asked but someone did point out a while back that I hadn’t actually described anyone. Which is true, I haven’t. I dislike reading and, indeed, writing lengthy descriptions of what characters look like and it didn’t strike me as important so I mostly skirted it.

But, just so people have a vague idea, it goes something like this:

All ME characters look like what they look like. You know what they look like.

Shepard is a lady Shepard, has the shortest haircut available (which I think is a step above a buzzcut, really) and looks - as I may have mentioned - like she’s lost a fight with about twelve panes of glass. Getting spaced and put back together again can do that.

Aside: I wasn’t a fan of how going Paragon made the scars go away. It seemed real cheap to me, kind of a harkening back to how fucked up looking you could get going darkside in KOTOR but eh, just weird. I wanted scars all the way, damnit!

Jarrion looks basically like any Rogue Trader that 40K artwork throws up. You know the sort. He looks like Jan Van Yastobaal. Or the guy off any one of the FF Rogue Trader RPG books. Or Count Maximillian or whatever his name was - the one from Inquisitor. Goatee, epaulettes, lots of gold braid and rings and such. And the augmetic ear, though you can’t usually see it unless you’re looking as it’s pretty niftily done. That’s money for you.

Loghain is an unimposing woman with no eyes - obviously - and who figured that shaving her head would help her blend in when she was pretending to be an Astropath. Her hair is now growing back.

Do I have a thing for women with short hair? No, actually, it’s just how it’s worked out here. Weird.

Pak looks like a tech priest, though maybe a little more towards the higher end of things given that they are a rather fancy Explorator. High-quality implants is what I’m saying. Number of mechadendrites? More than you’d expect but less than you’d hope.

Thale, for a guy who’s seen a lot of shit, is basically pristine. Ugly as sin, however. A man who fell out of the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down. Life compensates him by apparently making him ridiculously lucky. Who can say?

Why are you so bad at demarcating the shifts in perspective?

Whoopsie. Again.

Yeah, I kind of failed to notice the fact that fanfiction.net takes out some of the more subtle bits of formatting I was putting in, like the double line break and single hyphen I was putting in to show the bits where the narrative was switching.

Course that's not an issue for you handful of people here on AO3, but you're the minority.

So from now on I’m going to be dropping a big, fat +++MEANWHILE+++ or something like that to show the bits where the narrative is moving around.

That’ll probably not work for some people but, eh, it’s either that or break the thing up into even MORE chapters, and that’ll not work for some other people and in the end it’s all going to get read anyway, right? So might as well just try to make it clear.

That’s my excuse...


	21. 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thrilling financial encounters! Look, if you on the hunt for tightly-paced, action-packed fare you've had, like, sixty thousand words to realise you're in the wrong place. I just like stuff that goes on forever so I can just chew words like a cow chewing cud. So that's what I produce.
> 
> Anyway. I have the vaguest idea of how money works in ME. Generally you wave your hand at a laptop and you get credits. Maybe it's covered better in the books but I ain't read 'em. So I basically just fudged it.
> 
> Purpose here is to give Jarrion liquidity because Rogue Traders are supposed to have money that's kind of the point and also we're here to remember that aliens are gross. At least, assuming you're an Imperial...

For an alien planet, this ‘Illium’ wasn’t quite the backwards, savage, decrepit, barbarous, blasphemous, embarrassing hellhole Jarrion had been expecting. 

He wouldn’t go so far as to say that it was impressive - anyone could build tall buildings, Orks could build tall buildings - but it was at least pleasantly genteel and well-organised, which was a damn sight more than he had been expecting. They might even have running water. He hadn’t seen it yet, but it seemed likely.

He imagined that it being such a prominent place of business helped. Trade was, after all, a civilising influence. Not that you could ever hope to properly civilize an alien, of course, but you could get close enough to make the effort at least partially worthwhile. Close enough to get something valuable out of it. Like training a dog.

Not that Jarrion would ever admit that to anyone, naturally. He had the wit to appreciate the nuance of his position. You could hate the alien and still take advantage of them without killing them. Seemed obvious enough to Jarrion. Not so much to some others. Some people you just couldn’t reach.

In the end the stars would belong to man and man alone one way or another, so why not make the best use of what resources were available in the meantime? It would all work out the same. Yes?

Besides, as much as his father might protest otherwise, Rogue Traders were not meant to be soldiers. They were - as the name might suggest - traders. And if you could maximise value for the Imperium without firing a shot, wasn’t that helping in the long run? 

Wasn’t every deal cut with the minimum of fuss cutting down on the work of some poor, belegard servant of the Emperor in some other part of the galaxy, in some small way? Every Throne or credit or what have you earned or saved just that little bit extra that could tip the balance elsewhere? It all added up.

Every one of the Emperor’s subjects had a role to play, did they not? If Jarrion’s role could be best served by sometimes allowing an alien to continue living and in so doing wringing the best possible return out of this or that venture, well, was it not in the Emperor’s best interest for Jarrion to conduct himself in the way that would best further Imperial goals?

Made perfect sense to Jarrion when he explained it to himself like that. Others - his brothers, say, in particular his elder brother - would likely misconstrue what he meant. Would take his sensible, reasonable, entirely practical approach as a sign of spiritual weakness indicative of a dangerous lack of zeal and moral fibre. But such was life.

And they weren’t here anyway.

The sheer profusion of aliens about the place was still a little overwhelming though. Especially the blue ones. The ones who all looked decidedly feminine. There were an awful lot of those ones about. Unsurprising, Jarrion supposed, given they were supposedly the ones who owned the planet, but still. Everywhere you turned, there they were. Standing. Sitting. Talking. Watching.

Jarrion did his best to act like it wasn’t getting to him, but it really was. Humans were in the distinct minority here and that just wasn’t right. He and his men kept getting odd looks and it was fairly obvious that some sort of police - he assumed, hoped - presence was tailing them at a discreet distance, as they had indeed been doing practically since they’d set foot off the lighter and muddled through the bureaucracy of landing. Jarrion did his best to act like he didn’t notice this. It was the polite thing to do.

His group stuck close to him, eyeing their surroundings suspiciously or, in Thale’s case, with the detached casualness of the trained professional constantly expecting violence to break out and constantly thinking of what to do should that happen. 

Jarrion had picked his men for this trip down planetside quite carefully. 

Thale was there because he was basically Jarrion’s shadow and you could never be too safe. Loghain was there because Jarrion couldn’t get rid of the damn woman and she might prove useful to have around, he supposed. Torian was there to handle the fiddlier parts of the transactions as and when they occurred, even if having to slow down to allow for his limp was costing them valuable time. 

The rest of the group was made up of some of the armsmen who had seen action on Horizon, being as how they’d already accompanied Jarrion in the presence of aliens and so had at least some grasp that their current task involved less-than-hostile interaction with xenos. Having to explain that again would have been tedious.

They still clearly didn’t like where they were, but they were keeping this to themselves beyond the occasional muttered curse whenever an alien passed by too close. This was all Jarrion needed of them. That, and to carry crates of money. 

There were several purposes to this trip. Firstly, money. Or, rather, getting the money that had changed hands following the successful negotiations with Cerberus regarding access to the xenos wreck and turning it into a unit of currency that could be more easily used and accessed - those credits Jarrion ahd heard so much about.

Once he had an account set up he imagined a lot of things would be much, much easier.

Following that, acquisitions. But that would happen later. First, the money. Very important the money.

Finding a bank was not difficult. Asking where to find one was, because that involved having to talk to aliens, but worse things had happened and they were at least helpful, if confused by the people asking them questions. Some local branch of some galaxy-spanning banking institution was not too far away, thankfully, and so it was to this that Jarrion headed, his entourage in tow.

On arrival he was dismayed to find the staff entirely composed of more of those distressingly human-looking blue aliens. They really were quite unsettling. 

Had they the decency to look properly inhuman then Jarrion might have found it easier, in a weird kind of a way. Instead he just felt uncomfortable. Mocked, he supposed, that something so obviously inhuman should somehow be wearing such a human face. Certainly seemed a particularly blasphemous twist of biology to Jarrion, not that he was an expert.

But still, needs must, and he was a Rogue Trader and so he was - strictly speaking - allowed to do what he was about to do. Even if he was going to have to bolt on a smile and try to keep his skin from crawling through sheer force of will the whole time.

They weren’t expecting physical contact, were they? Jarrion experienced a moment of sheer, vertigo-like terror at the prospect of even a handshake given that he hadn’t brought gloves.

Thankfully though, just from the look of the staff they seemed about as put off by him as he was by them, so the prospect of any contact seemed minimal. Thank the Emperor for small mercies.

Just keep things polite, he told himself. This is a galaxy where - inexplicably - most species seem to be able to get along, more-or-less. That’s a weakness you can exploit. Just remember that, think of the bottom line and don’t let the men see you flinch.

The nearest alien was standing behind a counter of some sort and this seemed as good a place to start as any. Beaming as though showing up with crates of money was about the most normal thing in the world - to be fair, for a Rogue Trader, it wasn’t that out of the ordinary - Jarrion strode on over and rested one arm on the counter.

“Ah! Good morning! And what a fine morning it is, hmm? I wouldn’t be able to conduct a transaction, would I?” He asked, waving about his free hand to take in the ambience and then about managing to maintain eye contact with the alien.

It looked young, and this displeased Jarrion for reasons he couldn’t put his finger on.

By now, Shepard’s - or rather EDI’s - translation of Low Gothic had passed and filtered through the extranet and had reached most of the more populous corners of the galaxy, there to be downloaded automatically into most everyone’s translation software just as a matter of standard updates. Technology truly was a marvel. 

No-one had really thought about it’s inclusion or it’s source or even really noticed it at all, to be honest. It was just another update among however many others, passed along and around and copied and now being put to use for once somewhere that wasn’t a podunk human colony being visited by the single Imperial vessel in the galaxy. 

Certainly, the Asari clerk barely even noticed that she understood what the human was saying, because why wouldn’t she understand what a human was saying? That, and she was too busy being alarmed by all the other parts of Jarrion that were alarming.

The surly and threatening look of his entourage. The obviously blind woman wandering around and admiring the bulk-bought artwork on the walls like she wasn’t actually blind. The sheer amount of brocade and gold braid draped across the fiercely grinning man across the counter from her. The sheer amount of skull motifs everywhere. 

The actual, literal skull floating about his shoulder was just the icing on the cake.

Servo skulls saw a lot more use, now. Jarrion at this point had stopped caring quite so much about scaring the locals, reasoning that they could probably get over the sight of a skull and, if nothing else, it made a good icebreaker. So far this hadn’t proved a bad decision, and his having drawn the line at servo skulls seemed wise as well. 

So far Jarrion had not encountered anything to suggest that the sight of a servitor would pass unremarked upon. The people of this galaxy seemed remarkably squeamish, really. Servo skulls were probably about their limit. Most assumed it was just an affectation and that Jarrion was weird. No-one, surely, would make an actual skull float. That would be insanely morbid.

Whenever anyone asked, Jarrion just grinned at them, played it off like a joke. Let them think him eccentric.

Strictly speaking though this particular servo skull was there to aid in translation, having been setup to do so by Pak. Jarrion had imagined that such an expedient might come in handy. So far it hadn’t, but that was because he had managed to avoid talking to any aliens yet. Now would be the moment of truth.

Pak themselves - despite Jarrion’s more lenient attitude towards bringing along servo skulls - was very much confined to the ship for the duration of Jarrion’s stay on Illium. As with the servitors there were limits. What few tech priests that had had to be shuttled down to this or that colony had been kept as separate as possible from the locals, something they’d been only too happy to comply with. Pak though was something else. The Magos would probably start touching things they shouldn’t. Like the locals. 

That could only end badly.

“Transaction?” The clerk asked helplessly, looking about for backup or someone to come in and help, only to find all her cohorts conspicuously busy all of a sudden.

Jarrion was delighted that the translation adjustments seemed to work. The skull heard the words and fed the translation - in glorious, uncomplicated monotone - directly to his augmetic ear. He heard the strange language of the alien at the same which was confusing, but he could multitask.

“Yes! I believe this to be a bank - correct me if I’m wrong - and I’d rather like to open an account. It’d be easier than hiding what I’ve got under a mattress, let me tell you!”

Again the clerk eyed Jarrion’s companions. The blind woman had taken a seat on one of the sofas in the waiting area and was splayed out as though she owned the place. The other humans were all standing looking distinctly uncomfortable except for the bald one who just looked bored in the way a knife balancing on the edge of a table looked bored. It wasn’t a sight that inspired confidence.

“Y-you want to open an account?” She asked.

“If possible, yes. I have rather a profusion of currencies, I’m afraid. Been doing odd jobs, you know, just picking up some of the local shrapnel here and there. Rather hoping to consolidate them. Credits and a place to put them would make things much easier for me,” Jarrion said, breezily.

“Um, there is a m-minimum amount required as a deposit to open-” the clerk started, perhaps hoping to ward this strange off, but Jarrion had seen this coming and cut across her:

“Ah, of course of course. A proper bank for proper customers, eh? I shouldn’t think that’d be a problem. Lads? If you could.”

A gesture from Jarrion and the armsmen brought forward their crates and set them down in view of the clerk. They then opened them, lifting the lids to show that each of them was packed almost full to bursting with an eye-watering amount of hard currency.

“There are more crates,” Jarrion said. He wasn’t lying. The clerk just blinked. 

Jarrion had been very generous in what he’d allowed Cerberus to remove from the Collector wreck - what use xenos tech, after all? - and in turn Cerberus had been very generous in honouring the financial arrangement set up concerning this removal. Everyone was happy.

At a nod from Jarrion the lids were closed and the crates set down once more. It took the clerk a little longer than this to fully recover. It really wasn’t every day someone walked in with actual, physical money, let alone that much of the stuff. Indeed, she’d never personally had to deal with anything like that before.

Luckily for her the sight and smell of wealth had attracted one of her superiors who came gliding in almost out of nowhere to pluck this clearly important transaction from the inexperienced hands of a junior member of staff. Sliding bodily in front of the clerk the senior put on the most ingratiating expression she could muster and said:

“Terribly sorry for making you wait, sir, I was with another client. I hear that you’ve hoping to open an account?”

The clerk took the hint and melted into the background. Frankly, she was glad of the out. Jarrion barely noticed her going and, frankly, wouldn’t have cared anyway. One alien for another. As long as he got what he needed it hardly mattered.

This one looked older, though her dress was also inexplicably missing a big bit in the middle which meant that her belly-button was on show for all to see. Jarrion did not like this. Not at all. But he swallowed that tiny bit of bile he felt rise in the back of his throat and his smile didn’t so much was waver.

“Indeed I am. Nothing too extravagant, not interested in the travel insurance, hah! Just looking for something that’ll allow me to more easily access funds and process payments while I am out and about, you know? Dealing with hard currency is proving something of an inconvenience.”

“I quite understand sir. If you’d like to come with me?”

“Of course. Thale, stay here with the men. Torian,” Jarrion said, gesturing for the seneschal who, bowing and scraping, fell in line as Jarrion followed the alien to somewhere with seats and a desk.

Jarrion had been expecting paperwork. The bank however operated on a paper-free policy. There was some mild awkwardness as this was discovered, then the relevant details were put onto a pad so that Jarrion could peruse them. All fairly standard stuff as far as he could see, though he make sure to read twice - he’d read up on Illium, after all.

Something that had plainly been bothering the alien - and something that had equally plainly been the source of a low-level flutter of nervousness in her that had been there since the moment she’d stepped in, as much as she might have tried to hide it behind professional chirpiness - finally gave voice to itself here. She simply couldn’t help herself anymore:

“Might I be so bold as to ask whether you are the...owner...of that unusual vessel currently in orbit, sir?” She asked.

Jarrion looked up from squinting at the details, handing the pad off to Torian who set about poring over it himself, albeit with obvious distaste. He still resented having to have learnt to read what apparently passed for a human lingua franca these days, and doubly resented having to take something that an alien had touched. But he did it anyway.

“Ah, noticed that did you?” Jarrion asked the Asari, flashing a small grin. The effect of this was not a soothing one. She’d heard rumours about the humans who’d come down from that ship. All of them were ridiculous, but any one of them might have been true. She had at least one friend who worked in the dock where they’d landed their - supposedly - ugly, weird and rather alarming looking shuttle. 

“I - it - you, heh, you don’t see something like that every day, sir. It’s been, uh, talked about,” she said.

“Has it? And what have they been saying?”

“Oh, just gossip, sir. Nothing you should be too concerned about. I think they just found your...unusual...ship somewhat alarming. Not something we’re used to seeing, as I say. And you’re just here for business? Nothing else?”

Tiny note of nervousness again in the edge there. Jarrion furrowed his brow.

“What else could I be here for?” He asked.

The Asari had a lot of answers to this question, some of them she’d heard around and about, some of them she’d thought up herself. Few to none were flattering. A lot involved considerable amount of indiscriminate destruction just because, well, why else would a giant spaceship show up? Though - looking at the man - most were also pretty hard to countenance. He just seemed...odd.

The way he was looking at her was...odd.

“I can’t say I have any idea, sir,” she said.

And there the matter seemed to rest. At least here.

“This all appears acceptable, Lord Captain,” Torian said, stiffly, handing the pad back to Jarrion.

“Nothing to bite me later?” Jarrion asked, flicking the text up and down for no real reason other than he could.

“Nothing that I could see, no, Lord Captain,” Torian said. 

The old man had actually been hoping to uncover some craftily hidden trap or loophole that would have exposed the perfidious and disgusting aliens for the, well, perfidious and disgusting aliens that they were, with the result that the Lord Captain would leave in disgust and they could get back on the Assertive and get as far away from this Emperor-forsaken, alien-infested hellhole as it was possible to get.

But no such luck.

“Well that’s a plus,” Jarrion said happily enough, looking over to the Asari and holding up the pad. “Do I sign on this? Or is there an actual piece of parchment I haven’t seen yet?”

Turned out that ‘signing’ in this instance involved some biometrics being taken. Which wasn’t awful. Thumbprint, etcetera. Jarrion found it rather novel. Barely took any time at all and then what needed to be done was, apparently, done. Did leave at least one question though:

“Now, I don’t own an ‘omnitool’ I’m afraid, so how will I be able to access the funds in this account?”

Jarrion had done his research on this particular part of the process. These so-called omnitools were ubiquitous and apparently - perhaps appropriately - able to do just about anything, including greasing the wheels of commerce by allowing anyone who had one to just...wave their hand and make money go from one place to another place. Just like that. 

As a man of commerce this kind of incredible ease had definite appeal. Immediate access to funds? Anywhere? Delightful! Briefly Jarrion had considered maybe trying to acquire one just to make things simpler but he had, at length, decided against it.

Getting a foot in the door of this galaxy’s markets was one thing. Money was money was money, after all, no matter what it was called or where it came from. But starting to use local technology was quite another. That was a slippery slope.

Some of it might have appeared useful, such as those kinetic barriers. Jarrion could certainly see the value in those. But the more-than-friendly level of interspecies relationship in this galaxy put the providence of all technology in serious question. 

Who could say what alien influence had gone into the design of these omnitools? What sort of spiritual pollution might he be opening himself up to? What damage might it inflict on the machine spirits he came into contact with? And besides, once he’d taken that tiny step where would it end? Nowhere good, certainly.

Not that the Asari really cared. Lacking an omnitool was unusual, but not the worst thing she’d ever encountered. And certainly it wasn’t insurmountable. 

“Not a problem, sir. The account comes with a credit chit that you will be able to use - with additional functionality and access options available should you require them at a later date.”

A chit was produced and pushed across the desk. A wave of her own omnitool keyed it to the account being prepared. Both Jarrion and Torian eyed the thing with suspicion. Gingerly, Jarrion picked it up, holding it between forefinger and thumb.

“Marvellous. Uh, how does it work?” He asked. She explained.

Simplicity itself, basically. It just had the various financial functions that might normally have been found in an omnitool but in a dinky little easily-losable device instead. Would only work if the designated account holder - Jarrion, obviously - was holding it, could facilitate transfer of funds both ways, etcetera, etcetera...

Seemed innocuous enough to Jarrion. That was probably a dangerous sign. He’d have Pak look at it before actually using it. Just in case.

“Is there anything else I can help you with, sir?” The Asari asked, regarding the human squinting at the chit as though it might bite him. Jarrion - lost in thought - blinked and shook his head, snapping back to the then-and-there.

“As a matter of fact yes there is: you wouldn’t have an IFA or something of that nature I could speak to, would you?”

Took her a little off-guard, but only for a second.

“Of course, sir, and as an account holder you’d be entitled to an appointment - if you’d like me to set one up…?”

“Most certainly. As soon as possible, if you’d be so kind,” Jarrion said.

“Was there anything in particular you wished to discuss?” She asked. Then: “If I can inform them ahead of time they can better prepare for your appointment.”

Jarrion thought that made sense.

“Ah, I see. Well, I am interested in investments, for the long term. Steady returns, safe bets - armaments, heavy equipment, fuel, that sort of thing. Oh, and raw materials. Short term, I am rather keen to know of any sources you might be aware of for low-cost, readily available manpower. Are there are prisons nearby that are suffering from overcrowding? That you know of? Human, if at all possible, but I can be...flexible...” Jarrion said, swallowing hard on the last part but keeping his smile in place.

After all, in a mine or a refinery on the backside of some planet somewhere no-one looked it hardly mattered, did it? As long as they were out of sight and kept to themselves. As ever, would be foolish to waste a resource.

The Asari considered this a moment. In all fairness she had heard of worse requests. That was Illium for you.

“...I’ll pass that along, sir,” she said.

“Marvellous. Do contact me when you’ve arranged it. Torian? Contact details if you’d be so kind.”

Interaction with the various colonies had done much to help refine how Imperial communication technology could better interact with that which was in standard usage around the galaxy. Still no video, but everything else was much easier now, so that was nice. Certainly, arranging it so that the Asari would be able to call Jarrion about an appointment was trivial.

And that was that and Jarrion was now the proud owner of a very healthy number of credits, all of which he could access with the simplicity of waving a teeny tiny little chit around. He considered this a success. Certainly better than lugging crates around.

Once outside the bank Jarrion finally let his composure relax, whereupon he staggered over to a nearby railing and promptly vomited over the edge, the discomfort of such extended interaction with xenos finally catching up with him. Honestly, it took him by surprise, but plainly it had been bothering him more than he’d been willing to admit even to himself.

Wiping his mouth with a handkerchief he then tucked back into his jacket he peered over the edge but found he couldn’t even see the ground from where he was, just the twinkling lights of the city and the frankly unnecessary amount of flying vehicles these aliens felt the need to have. Inveterate show-offs.

“Oh, I’ve probably ruined someone’s day down there…” He said, grimacing at the taste left in his mouth and patting himself down in the hopes that he’d remembered to bring a flask of something stiff and life-affirming. To his delight he had and he took a slug and swished it about his mouth a little before deciding - with a shrug - to spit that over the edge as well.

In for a penny.

“Charming,” Loghain said, sauntering over and leaning on the railing just along from Jarrion.

“It’s the, well, it’s all of them, really. It is deeply disarming how human those ones look. I can’t say I’m a fan of it. Deeply disconcerting. At the time I was able to concentrate on the professional side but…”

He looked over the edge again and shook his head.

“I’m only human,” he concluded.

“You are indeed. Though, I do find it somewhat interesting that you chose to come to what is an alien-controlled world to conduct these incredibly interesting and not-at-all-tedious business transactions. This is an - what was it again? - ‘Asari’ world, I believe? Is that the right name? Those blue ones. With the breasts. And the head flaps. Frills. Like that one you were talking to?”

Jarrion gave her a look that was utterly wasted on her not. Not because she was blind, but just because she plainly didn’t care. When this became obvious Jarrion gave up in disgust and took to looking out across the city again. This did not improve his mood. Bloody aliens and their shiny city.

“Take it you read the information that the Commander provided, then Inquisitor? Learnt a little bit more about where we happen to find ourselves?” He asked.

“I did,” she said.

“Well so did I,” Jarrion said, rapping a knuckle against the railing - thought being careful not to hit his rings, for they were very, very valuable and also occasionally volatile - and straightened up to spread his arms and indicate the scene before him. “This planet represents one of the most valuable links between the Terminus systems - where my interests lie - and Citadel space - where the money is. I admit that my primary concern remains awaiting the results of how we got here and whether or not we can get back but that does not diminish the fact that I have committed myself. I have interests that require these connections. Can hardly find a reputable bank on some backwater, can I? That the planet is controlled by aliens is unfortunate, but nothing I can change. Human space is some considerable distance from here.”

He’d slipped into doing the speeches again. Loghain noticed this and grinned. It was, she had discovered, fairly easy to get a rise out of Jarrion. Or maybe it was just easy for her. The jury was out on that one for now.

“Not worth the trip, then? I’d rather like to see Terra,” she asked.

As far as Jarrion was concerned this joke was in rather poor taste. The existence of an entirely separate Terra in a universe that seemingly did not have the Emperor in it just struck him as...wrong somehow. Not something you should call attention to, he felt.

“I’m not entirely sure what it is you’re hoping to achieve by all this, Inquisitor. Indeed, I feel as though we’ve had this conversation before. I’m not doing anything that I am not empowered to do by the Warrant. We are outside Imperial jurisdiction and I am using my judgement and my authority to move as I see fit. That is the whole point of Rogue Traders. Are you trying to catch me out?” He asked. Loghain turned away and looked out over the railing, for a given value of ‘looked’.

Jarrion did wonder sometimes what it was she was seeing...

“Just observing,” she said. Jarrion glared a little, thought up another speech or two but then just sighed. What was the point? Instead, he settled in beside her and glared at the alien instead. Bloody aliens. 

“Well observe more quietly. I know exactly what I’m doing and I know exactly what it is I am allowed to do,” he said.

“Of course. I am not implying otherwise,” Loghain said and Jarrion laughed very shortly and without a whole lot of humour.

“I’ll believe you. Thousands wouldn’t. Don’t think I haven’t forgotten that you even being on the Assertive in the first place is cause for concern. Inquisitors don’t just appear for no reason and they don’t ever appear for a good reason, either.”

“Maybe I was just hitching a lift,” Loghain said.

“Somehow I don’t think so. Just like how I don’t think asking you nicely is going to get me a straight answer.”

“You haven’t tried asking me nicely. Maybe sprinkle a ‘pretty please’ in there somehow. You never know,” Loghain said.

There was a pause. During this pause Jarrion genuinely considered this. Then he realised what he was doing, gritted his teeth and shook his head.

“...no. No, it’s just not worth it. I have standards. The line has to be drawn somewhere,” he said.

“Your loss,” said Loghain, glancing at him and double-taking. She raised a hand and pointed to his collar. “You missed a bit.”

This confused Jarrion until he caught a whiff of bile and remembered that had thrown up not even five minutes previously. Looking down he saw that, on his collar, he had indeed missed a bit. He sighed and pulled the handkerchief out again, grumbling:

“Hope I can find a human who’ll sell me spaceships on this damn planet...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enlightenment is a myth we do not need to understand in order to hate.


	22. Twenty two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This turned out a lot wordier than I initially expected, and it's likely a steaming mess of crap, but by now you've all had ample time to realise I'm not a very good writer.

+++MEANWHILE, IN ORBIT OF ILLIUM, ON THE NORMANDY+++

Popping back to the Normandy to swap out some of the bits of my armour - which for some reason always had to involve me going back to the Normandy and also having to go up to my cabin, figure that one out - I discovered to my displeasure that I had a laundry list of messages and missed calls. Turns out that things had kicked off in a major way while I’d been killing people with a laser.

Jarrion arriving (or more specifically his ship arriving) was causing something of a stir, to put it lightly. Putting it less lightly the whole place was about three notches shy of a full-blown panic, at least according to what I was seeing. And that was just Illium! Ripples spread! Rumours were already going wild. Nervous people make everyone else nervous.

More fool me for not figuring it out on my own, really. Probably should have twigged it that having a ship as big as Jarrion’s just rocking up somewhere with as much money as Ilium would put the fear of God into just about everybody. Damn thing was bigger than some orbital facilities I’d been on. 

Certainly bigger than Sovereign had been, come to think of it.

Speaking for myself I’d just been annoyed at the mind-blowing coincidence of running into him again, hadn’t given it much thought beyond that. Space was famously kind of a large place - what were the odds? Not in my favour, apparently. Or at least not in favour of letting me get on with my business.

Guess having met the guy in charge of the vessel kind of took the edge off seeing it. That and I’d seen it enough times that the sheer novelty of the thing - few kilometers of spires and crenelations and all - had kind of gone. Everyone else though? Not as fortunate as me. They had no idea what to think. Couldn’t really blame them.

I had a brief glance at the extranet while Chakwas was having a look at my arm, the one that had taken a hit. There was a lot of talk going on. Speculation abounded as to the nature of this mysterious spaceship. What did it want? Where had it come from? Why wasn’t anyone shooting at it yet? Why wasn’t it shooting at us yet? Etcetera. 

None of the theories or conclusions were anywhere near accurate, of course, and a lot of it was distressingly hysterical. Which, again, given the size of the ship I suppose I should have expected.

If anything, the fact that the ship was just hanging in orbit and not apparently doing anything was just making it worse. If it had been raining down fire and destruction on Illium then at least people would have had something to work with. That would have been nicely understandable. You knew where you stood with that.

As it was, nothing. Just hanging there. Being inscrutable. The worst kind of mystery.

Course, that was just those who hadn’t heard that humans had been seen coming out of it. The ones who were aware of that particular fact had their own raft of baffling ideas. They weren’t a lot better, and some of them were, frankly, kind of insulting. Speaking as a human. 

Sigh. Everyone in the galaxy always assuming that everyone else has it in for them. Suppose that’s just kind of the, uh, sapient condition. Suppose I can see the logic in it, too. Even if it’s kind of self-sustaining. If everyone is acting like everyone else is about to stab them in the back that’s kind of how it’s going to turn out.

Ah, life.

Speaking of being stabbed in the back, the Council apparently wanted a word with me, too.

Hah. That’s a joke. They’re not that bad. They’d just watch me get stabbed in the back then tell me about it after it had happened and probably insinuate it was my fault somehow.

That’s another joke. They’re really not that bad.

I had taken the time some days previously to return to the Citadel and finally get around to getting my Spectre status restored. I hadn’t gone there specifically to do this, it had just seemed a good idea since I was in the area and all. 

In all honesty I actually take great pride in being a Spectre, it’s important. I may joke around a lot but for this at least I’m being sincere. A tiny step towards better cooperation is better than no step at all in my book.

Getting reinstated had gone well, or at least as well as could be expected. They - which is to say, the Council - were surprisingly sanguine about me coming back from the dead, less relaxed about my now massive-open-secret working with Cerberus. Which I could kind of understand.

Still. Not an insurmountable obstacle as it turned out. The upshot of the whole thing being that I was a Spectre again, but they’d prefer if I kept myself to the Terminus systems for now, more or less. Works for me. That’s kind of where I needed to be anyway.

But now they wanted a word. Which was why I was in the conference room.

I hadn’t even known I could get outside calls on this thing, thought it was just a permanently locked direct line to Tim. Guess it’s got regular functionality outside of that fancy QEC stuff. Nice. Wonder how mum’s getting on?

Later.

“EDI, can we have a word with the Council?”

“Putting you through, Commander.”

A small pause, then we connected.

And there was Udina looking about as sour as he normally does, and all the others.

I really should get around to learning their names at some point. 

Mean, it’s not really professional, is it?

“You rang?” I asked.

None of them got it. Indeed, they just decided to ignore this completely. Probably for the best.

“Shepard. We are contacting you regarding events in the Tasale system,” the Asari said.

Pretty euphemistic way of putting it. Also, wasn’t I contacting them?

“This wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with a rather large spaceship that happens to look like someone took a chunk of Ely cathedral and hurled it into space, would it?” I asked.

“None of us understand what you’re talking about, Shepard,” the Salarian said, flatly. I shrugged.

“Right, sorry. Probably should have gone for a less provincial reference. It’s about the big ship though, isn’t it?”

They all shared one of their looking-at-each-other-and-subtly-shaking-their-heads moments.

“Why is it that whenever something like this happens you’re never far away?” The Turian asked. Not a lot I could say to that, really, he had me bang to rights.

“Just lucky I guess,” I said, tucking my thumbs into my trousers.

He looked like he was going to rise to this for a second, but then thought better of it and just grunted, giving the Asari a window to carry on.

“There is a time-sensitive task we have for you relating to this vessel,” she said, all smoothness.

“I do kind of have something on right now. Don’t know if I mentioned? Collectors? Kidnapping people? Coming from some hidden base the other side of a relay no-one ever comes back from?”

I had been over this with them when I’d been on the Citadel. It had kind of been a cornerstone of our conversation, in fact, them not wanting anything to do with it but them turning a blind eye to me helping Cerberus with it. I trusted they hadn’t forgotten.

“What you get up to in your spare time is your own business, Shepard, but a Council Spectre has certain responsibilities. Not the sort that you can opt out of because you don’t feel like doing them,” the Turian said.

Kind of regretting getting reinstated now.

Do Spectres have a pension? What’s my annual leave allowance like?

Sigh. Suppose he’s got a point though. 

“How urgent is this exactly? Mean, are lives on the line?” I asked.

“Lives are always on the line, Shepard,” he practical growled at me.

Again, guess he’s got a point.

“An unidentified vessel of unknown affiliation and of considerable scale enters the orbit of a major world without warning, not passing any relays and apparently utilising some method of FTL travel that has never been seen before to arrive in the system entirely unannounced - we feel we have every right to be uncomfortable,” the Asari said.

“The last vessel of unusual origin to have made such a public arrival was Sovereign. I hardly need to remind you how that went, Shepard,” the Salarian chipped in.

“And this one is twice the size! If not more!” Udina said, probably just to get a word in.

“Size isn’t everything,” I said. Probably shouldn’t have said anything, in hindsight, but that’s hindsight for you. Very abrupt hindsight,

“Shepard…” the Turian said warningly. I held my hands up.

“I know, I know. Just saying. Though you do have to wonder why they’d need something that big, don’t you?”

Not even going to raise the fact that Jarrion had said that this particular ship was only a light cruiser and how he had also mentioned - off-hand - the existence of battleships that were apparently a little over seven kilometers long. Which was just excessive, really. 

He’d said they were rare but still, you’re just showing off at that point, aren’t you?

“That this ship is seen to be crewed by humans - at least according to our reports - only serves as a further cause for concern,” the Turian went on to say.

“Does it now?” Udina asked.

“Apparently non-Alliance affiliated humans of unclear origin,” the Asari clarified for the Turian’s benefit. Nice of her.

“Thank you for your clarification,” Udina sniffed.

This was great and all, but it didn’t seem to be going anywhere.

“None of you have actually mentioned what it is you want me to do. Or am I meant to intuit it?” I asked.

They all shared another look. Did they communicate by thought or something?

“To put it bluntly, we want you to stall the vessel, or more specifically whoever it is who is in charge of it. Keep them on-planet and keep that vessel in orbit where we can see it and see what it is doing,” the Salarian said.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“The Citadel Council makes a point not to kid. An actual response is being organised to deal with the situation more formally but at this time you are the senior-most Council presence available, hence our asking you. And you have previous experience with the vessel, I believe?” The Asari asked.

For a second I was confused how they knew that, then it came back to me. 

I had filed a report on the encounter and had submitted it once reinstated, feeling like it was the sort of thing that - if it came out I’d bumped into a massive, mysterious ship and not said anything about - might reflect poorly on me. I hadn’t expected anyone to actually pay attention to it!

“Ah. Read that report, did you?” I asked.

“We did. We may not have treated it with the gravity it required, in retrospect.”

Not exactly surprising. The report had been fairly light on detail. This had been deliberate on my part. 

I’d figured that I was already known as the crazy lady who believed in ancient killer robots lurking in the darkness beyond the edge of the galaxy and just waiting to come shrieking back to murder us all and I could do without being known as the crazy lady who was also now raving about enormous ships maybe-from-the-future-maybe-not crewed by humans speaking an unrecognised language and the whole thing being generally unlike anything anyone had ever seen, prowling around the Terminus systems doing strange things. 

It would just have made my life difficult.

So I had been light on detail. Just said unidentified vessel, human crew, origin unknown and then given the brief rundown our scans had shown on initial contact, just to be comprehensive. Then I’d packed the report up and later I’d sent it off and expected nothing much to come of it. And nothing much had come of it.

Until now, obviously. This is what I get for having my name attached to the thing. And for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Again. Story of my life.

Of course, I also knew that rumours about Jarrion’s ship had been bubbling up here and there recently without my help. Colonial blather, you know the sort of thing. Scattered in amongst the genuine calls for distress and tales of woe you usually get from the frontier you also get the ghost stories, the wonk, the conspiracy theories and the nonsense. 

Jarrion’s ship had just been another of those, as far as anyone else was concerned. Nothing to take seriously, just colonists overreacting and seeing things and making things up to pass the time.

Again, until now.

“A little experience. He’s not a threat, least not as far as I’ve seen,” I said.

“He? You’ve had contact with the owner this vessel?” The Turian asked. Me and my big mouth.

“That wasn’t in the report?”

“You may have neglected to include that particular detail,” said the Salarian.

Silly me.

“My mistake. I’ve had some dealings with the captain in the course of my duties and, uh, other activities. He’s open to diplomatic overtures, not hostile. Seems kind of lost, if I’m being honest.”

Decided to leave out the part about the racism. It’s not exactly groundbreaking news and given that Jarrion wasn’t going around glassing non-human worlds - at least as far as I’d heard - it didn’t seem pertinent. Lots of people in the galaxy didn’t like the people who weren’t like their people. Nothing new under the sun.

The religiously-mandated hatred of aliens was kind of new. But not that new, come to think of it. We had some of that, too. Maybe not the borderline-theocracy he seemed quite eager to be getting back to but we did our best. Still not great.

“Do you know what, if any, organisation or entity the vessel is owned by?” Asked the Asari.

“Paramilitary, human organisations with scanty ethics and dubious, as-yet-unproven links to many corporate entities, perhaps?” The Turian asked, lightly.

Udina looked about set to rise to this - and defend Cerberus? Or humanity in general, maybe - but the Asari cut across with a glare at both of them and put a stop to anything before anything could even start. Probably for the best.

“Shepard?” She asked, turning back my way.

A fair question, given the size of the damn thing. This wasn’t the sort of ship you could easily make without someone, somewhere finding out about it, so it having just popped up truly was unusual.

Mean, hell, even one dreadnought is a divot in most economies, and this thing was eight times the mass, if not more. Made the Destiny Ascension look like a freighter.

In my head I pictured trying to explain all of the stuff to do with the Imperium that Jarrion had explained to me and which I’d deliberately left out of my report. I could not see it ending well. They’d probably just think I was taking the piss. I don’t have time for that, let someone else have to handle that.

“I believe it’s privately owned,” I said.

Given what I understood about Rogue Traders - which wasn’t a lot, I’ll admit - this was technically true? Could tell from the looks they were giving me they weren’t buying it, but not so much they were going to outright call me a liar. Hell, I wouldn’t have bought it either.

“Did he tell you where he acquired it?” The Salarian asked instead.

“I…”

Again, explaining this I’d have to go into the Imperium and how it had a navy and how it had apparently been a wrecked and refurbished vessel and, really, it just wasn’t worth going into. Not now.

“...he didn’t say. I’m sure your guys can ask him when they get here.”

Something of a collective sigh from the Council, who’d plainly, wordlessly decided, correctly, that I was being evasive and keeping things from them but didn’t trust me enough to be open with them. Didn’t I work for them? Guess they figured whoever they were sending would be less tiring.

I was kept around to shoot things and look good doing it. This right here was just because, as they said, I was in the right place at the right time. More fool me.

“I suppose they can. They should be with you sometime in the next few days, delays withstanding. As said, we would like you to keep the vessel - and its captain - where it is until then, and to do your best to ensure that relations remain pleasant and cordial,” said the Asari.

“Spectres are straightforward problem solvers, not make-nice handshakers,” I said.

The Asari’s eyes narrowed.

“Spectres are entrusted with preserving galactic stability. A strange vessel of unknown provenance appearing in the orbit of a major world for unclear purposes has a deleterious effect on this stability, particularly given the world in question’s economic importance. Very little spreads as fast as panic, Shepard. We must be seen to act while also acting effectively. You are there, and so we choose to act through you.”

Fair play. 

As much as I disliked Illium I wasn’t dumb enough to say it wasn’t an important place, and if money dried up or even slowed a little that would trickle down to someone, somewhere finding their life that much harder and not being able to do anything about it and not even really knowing why. 

Keeping this or that investor from panicking here would be keeping food in the mouths of others elsewhere. Not that I’m an economist or anything. I’m just not a big enough idiot to think these things don’t make a difference.

Big picture stuff. For want of a nail and all that. Pain in the arse. Goes with the job.

“Fine,” I said. “What do you want me to do, exactly? Just so we’re extra clear.”

“Nothing you don’t seem to have already done. Keep the ship from leaving Illium’s orbit and do not do anything that might offend its captain or its crew,” the Salarian said.

“Is there anything else you can tell us? Its capabilities?” The Turian asked.

I thought back to that Collector cruiser getting holed from prow to stern. Who knew what any of those other guns could do? Any of those many, many other guns the thing was encrusted with.

“Be glad it’s friendly?” I ventured.

A pause. I think they were trying to find the words.

“...as ever, these little talks do much to bolster our confidence,” the Asari said, eventually.

+++MEANWHILE, BACK ON ILLIUM+++

Second-hand starships, Jarrion had been very pleased to discover, could be acquired for surprisingly reasonable amounts. Private hangers on Illium could also be rented for quite reasonable amounts too, he’d learnt. Which was why Jarrion was in a hanger he’d temporarily rented, looking over the starships he’d more permanently bought.

They were a trio of what were apparently known as ‘Kowloon’ class freighters. Dinky little things - almost embarrassingly small for what was supposed to be an intra-system voidcraft, at least to Imperial eyes - but very well suited for what Jarrion had in mind, from the sound of things.

Simply put, the idea was just to take what certain colonies that he’d made contact with had but did not need and transport it to those other colonies that needed it and did not have it, with surplus and excess and whatever else remained delivered to Home Away From Home. Just trade routes, basically. Routine stuff, to be done routinely. 

This was what the Assertive had been doing up until this point, a thorough misuse of a fine warship and no mistake, but Jarrion had had no option at the time. This was now to change, and he couldn’t be happier.

Home Away From Home was already seeing the benefits of all this extra material, too. The place was practical burgeoning, and with its manufacturing capabilities properly set up now and properly fed to boot, it was churning out quite the stream of Imperial goods, to be stockpiled mostly on the off-chance that the Assertive needed something, and sometimes to be traded, when the colonies felt the need to ask.

It turned out that, here and there, those colonists that Jarrion had made contact with had developed something of a soft spot for certain Imperial equipment. Tools and vehicles, in the main. What they lacked in sophistication they more than made up for in reliability, apparently; something that the colonists appreciated greatly. 

A lot of vehicles objected to falling off of cliffs - not the ones that Jarrion was willing to sell them! Those ones just kept on going. And could run on anything, freeing up resources that could put to better use elsewhere. Out on the frontier that sort of economising was prized, it turned out. Who knew?

And of course, weapons were always welcome. Those colony-issue lasguns were very popular indeed, managing to top-out even the Avenger in terms of ruggedness while also possessing the undeniably irresistible novelty value of being an actual, bonafide lasergun. 

But that was all niggling detail. Right then, in that hanger, Jarrion had immediate concerns, and it was those three freighters.

Jarrion had been assured up and down by the seller that all the ships were of exclusively human manufacture but he hadn’t got where he had in life by taking people at their word without verifying it himself, so he had had a small contingent of the Assertive’s tech priests brought down, accompanied by Magos Blix, to give the vessels the once over.

Why Blix and not Pak? Because Jarrion still did not trust Pak to keep their hands (and other grabby parts) to themselves, primarily. And because technically this venture with the freighters could be held up as an extension of House Croesus commercial enterprise, and therefore not something that strictly fell within Pak’s remit of the unusual and unexplored and thus something to be picked over.

Indeed, Pak did not even really want to be disturbed by all appearances, so engrossed were they in dissecting the various devices and other bits and pieces they’d collected. It was getting a little unnerving, actually. Jarrion would have expected a little less enthusiasm for the foreign and the unknown from a Magos.

Maybe Explorators really were as odd as he’d heard...

Jarrion felt he should probably have a look at the agreement that had let Pak onboard at some point. Just in case he was missing something vital. Not like he could do anything about it, it being a rather old House Croesus compact with the Mechanicus, but forewarned was forearmed and all that.

But later, later.

While Blix was coordinating and leading the examination of the ships, Jarrion himself was sitting off to the side of the hanger, drinking a cup of tea. The cup and attendant tea set - replete with luxurious self-heating teapot - the leaves and, indeed, the chair all having been brought down from the Assertive at his insistence.

He imagined the examination of the ships would take some time, and it wouldn’t do for him not to be present, he’d felt. This was a fairly risky investment, after all, and if turned out that local ships even of ostensive human make were of no use to him, well, then he wanted to be there to learn it.

So sitting and waiting and watching. And tea. Because sitting without a drink could be tiresome and, well, Jarrion liked tea from time to time.

But he did not particularly trust the local tea, if any even existed, and he liked the chair he was sitting on. It was blue. And while there were others available more easily, yes, there’d been a lighter coming down anyway, so why not?

“I must say, even in my wildest dreams I couldn’t quite have imagined the thrilling life a Rogue Trader leads,” said Loghain who, much to Jarrion’s aggravation, had been sticking quite close to him his whole time on the surface.

Indeed, she was his only real present company, Thale standing off somewhere keeping a very cautious eye on everything and Torian having taken leave to return to the Assertive to sleep. He was, after all, a very old man. And since he hadn’t been required anymore Jarrion had allowed it. He’d found the Seneschal’s constant huffing disapproval of the locals grating.

Jarrion didn’t like being here anymore than Torian did, he was sure, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be constantly reminded of it.

So it was just Jarrion and Loghain sitting and watching, now. And it had been for some time.

She had tea as well, and was doing her best to drink it as daintily as possible. She was doing this to mock Jarrion, and Jarrion was ignoring the fact she was doing this. Other than to acknowledge that she was doing it at all.

“The vast majority of anyone’s time, Inquisitor, is spent like this. Ninety percent of life is connective tissue that joins that single exciting percent to the next single exciting percent. What remains is usually spent asleep,” he said.

Jarrion was rather proud of this pithy little observation and made sure to stick his little finger out even more as he took another sip of tea.

“I could probably find a few people who’d disagree with you on that,” Loghain said, frowning.

“By all means go and find them right now. I could use the distraction.”

Not to mention the quiet her absence would provide.

“Unfortunately most of them are back in the Imperium, wherever that is relative to here. Whenever that is. So it’ll have to wait,” Loghain said, setting her cup down and leaning back a moment in her chair to stretch.

A pause.

“I have an honest question. Hypothetical, but honest,” she then said. Jarrion sighed.

“It’s very difficult to believe you understand what honest means,” he said.

“I’m being serious,” she said, and amazingly her tone actually made Jarrion believe it.

“Go on,” he said cautiously, eyeing her over the rim of his teacup.

With it so close to his face, Jarrion couldn’t help but remember that this particular teacup - indeed, the whole set - was bone china and the bone in question was that of a particular xenos species now extinct and which, indeed, House Croesus had helped render extinct. He tried, while still watching Loghai, to remember the name of the species. He couldn’t though. Hardly mattered, really.

The most significant part of them left now was the artwork on the cup depicting their final days and the more notable moments of their being wiped out. And the teacup itself, Jarrion supposed.

Certainly, the planet was long-since lost to history. Somewhere out there, very quiet and still.

“If - hypothetically, as I say - if we are stuck here, what are you going to do?” Logain asked.

Jarrion stared at her a moment longer then lowered the cup.

“I refuse to believe that that’s a possibility,” he said.

For someone with no eyes and a blindfold Loghain gave him a very impressively flat look.

“Kind of the point of a hypothetical is that you assume the given setup of the question just for the sake of argument,” she said. Jarrion took another sip before answering.

“I’m aware of what a hypothetical is, Inquisitor. I just don’t see much point in entertaining such defeatist fantasies. Whatever brought us here shall, through the effort of our fine friends the Mechanicus,” he gestured to the tech priests with his teacup. “Cease to be a mystery and, following this, a means of returning home shall be discovered. I have absolutely, unyielding confidence in this.”

And there, for him, the matter rested.

“So not even going to humour me?” Loghain asked.

“Not for a moment, no.”

Loghain stuck her tongue out him and Jarrion shook his head.

“Grow up,” he said.

In all honesty it just wasn’t something he even wanted to think about, because if such a dire thing were to happen it could only end badly, in his estimation, and he wasn’t going to allow himself to go down that particular mental road. Not until he was shown he had no other option.

Thankfully for Jarrion, further rumination or discussion was cut short by Blix, who came stomping over without warning.

“Can I help you, Magos?” Jarrion asked. He would have offered tea, but he was fairly certain that Blix didn’t have a stomach anymore. Or at least not in the conventional sense. Certainly, he was pretty sure that Blix would have nowhere to put the tea.

When Blix spoke, it came out in snapped bursts, the volume of which was enough to clip it out at the edges. A lesser man than Jarrion would have winced to hear it.

//transmission received//update: transition//tentative conclusions//data required//must return to confirm//

This took some unpicking for Jarrion, who groped after what the Magos could possibly be talking about before clocking the fact that Blix was likely referring to the very subject that he and Loghain had just been talking about, that of the efforts of the Assertive’s tech priests to investigate the circumstances of their arrival.

Or at least that was Jarrion’s best guess.

“Oh! Progress has been made, I take it? Good news?”

//tentative conclusions//projections indicate possibility of point of ingress remaining stable//must return to confirm//

Again, Jarrion had to work this out. He frowned, running it through in his head and he flinched in surprise as the light broke.

“Wait. You’re saying that whatever we came through is still there? We actually came through something? That we might have left behind us?”

Like, say, a tunnel.

//tentative conclusion//must return to confirm//data required//

“Return to...where we initially arrived?” Jarrion ventured.

He very, very, very dimly remembered the place in question - that it had been right in the orbit of a rather striking gas giant helped this. What had been its name? Ephrom? Nephros? He’d have to check.

But still!

//affirmative//

Jarrion sat in bewildered quiet a moment, his mind racing. What a turn up! If this wasn’t providence Jarrion didn’t know what was! Emperor be praised!

Couldn’t simply drop present business though. It’d be a waste of time and money and, since time was money, that was at least twice as much money as numbers would suggest on the face of things. And that would be unacceptable. 

Ultimately that was the Emperor’s money, after all, and every bit of wasted needlessly an affront, so whatever was happening now had to be concluded. That was a given.

Once that was done and settled though, charting a course back to the spot in question shouldn’t be too difficult. Altrx seemed to have settled into the new rhythm of things quite nicely given his initial consternation and the fuss he’d kicked up to start with. 

Indeed the Navigator had recently made a habit of pontificating at length any opportunity he had on the Very Important book he was going to be making on navigation in this Emperor-forsaken place. The first book of its kind! By default, really. But he still sounded very proud of the thing, even if it didn’t exist yet.

So going back wasn’t impossible. Indeed, it was quite the opposite. Doable, certainly doable. 

And within a brisk timeframe, too.

Jarrion noticed that his hand was starting to tremble from the sheer joy of how perfect everything was and delicately put his teacup down.

“Marvellous! Continue with your work here and we’ll return to the Assertive and cast off shortly. My regards to the priests and their fine work,” he said, adding: “How are the freighters, just to ask? Suitable?”

///technology godless//barbarous//adequate for stated purpose//blessings required//

This was not a surprise to Jarrion, but it was pleasing to hear that he hadn’t wasted his money on something deemed immediately unacceptable. 

Human-made though they may be - and he still doubted they were wholly that, given just how bloody chummy everyone here was - it wasn’t going to be Imperial subjects operating these vessels anyway, but locals (humans, obviously), to be found before they left. Had to be some loose-at-heel crew kicking about this planet, after all. 

The inspection was more to make sure that the ships met a bare minimum standard to even be used for that. The spiritual pollution that might have come from condoning the use of something corrupt even in the smallest of degrees was a threat worth considering, as far as Jarrion saw, and things were already dicey enough as it was. 

This, at least, he could have come level of control over.

“Good good. Well, carry on Magos,” Jarrion said, giving a nod that the Magos slowly, awkwardly returned before he turned and stomped off to rejoin his peers, a pair of tracked, thurible bearing servitors emerging from the lighter and trundling across the hanger to join him partway there.

Jarrion watched him go.

“Have one Magos who doesn’t talk at all and one who talks like that. You know, I think they do it just to be obtuse…” he muttered to himself before shaking his head and breaking into a wide smile, turning to Loghain.

“Well! Isn’t this the exciting development? And there was you ready to go off giving up hope, ‘hypothetically’! Ye of little faith! I’d say the Emperor is smiling on our work here, wouldn't you? Not only pouring success out upon my head but also giving us all a way home, too!”

Loghain was pouting exaggeratedly, arms folded.

“I think it’s because I mentioned it. Got everything moving again,” she said.

“Of course, Inquisitor,” Jarrion said, reaching to give her a condescending pat on the knee but - wisely - thinking better of it, instead trying a joke: “Have you ever heard how many Inquisitors it takes to change a light bulb?”

“Is this going to be the one about having the universe revolve around them?”

“Ah, heard it before, have you?”

“Once or twice.”

“Lord Captain,” said Thale, appearing at Jarrion’s elbow and making him jump. Even Loghain, psychic, was a little surprised. The man moved with a silence that seemed to extend further than it had any right to.

“Yes, Thale?”

“Commander Shepard is here to see you,” Thale said, tilting his head a little toward the back of the hanger, Jarrion leaning a little to see that, yes, she was stood waiting by the door, eyeing the armsmen posted there who, in turn, were eyeing her.

“Commander Shepard? How did-” Jarrion started to wonder aloud how she could have tracked him down but stopped. She was a woman of surprising means, after all, and it was hardly a secret where he was. Not important. “Of course, send her over,” he said. Thale nodded and moved back over to the hanger’s door, where Shepard was waiting.

In short order she came over. With a face like hers it was hard to tell whether she was happy or not.

“Hello again, Commander. Do you always leave your ship in full armour?” Jarrion asked, rising from his seat briefly just to shake her hand in greeting before sitting back down again. Politeness, in his experience, was always a worthwhile investment.

“My line of work, it’s just sensible, really,” Shepard said with a shrug, causing the many weapons across her body to clank. Jarrion beamed.

“I must say I know what you mean. Pays to be prepared at all times, doesn’t it?” He said, raising a cup to her good health.

Looking at him, sitting there in his fancy jacket, with his tea set and his gaudy rings, Shepard couldn’t be sure if he was taking the piss or not. She decided to assume he wasn’t and not to press the issue.

“Please please, sit. Tea?” Jarrion said, indicating a spare chair - for there was a spare chair, just in case - and moving to fill up one of the empty cups.

Briefly Shepard considered saying no, but then figured that it couldn’t hurt. 

“Go on then,” she said, sitting, accepting a teacup a moment later.

“I am going to venture a guess and assume you’re not here solely for the pleasure of my company?” Jarrion said.

Shepard had a look at the rather colourful scenes of destruction and death on the side of her cup before taking a tentative sip. It wasn’t half bad, which was nice. She then sat back and sighed.

“You’re not wrong. Look, I’m going to be straight with you Jarrion. I’ve been sent in my capacity as an agent of the Citadel Council. Mostly because I’m the only one they had in the area. Had no idea this sort of thing was in the job description but there you go.”

“You’re being pulled in many directions, from the sound of things,” Jarrion said, thinking of the Collectors, though as far as he was concerned that particularly matter was closed. Mostly because what details she’d explained to him he’d halfway forgot.

Shepard let out a single, mirthless laugh. More of a sharp exhale, really.

“Little bit. Should be getting more members of the squad right now instead of this. Mostly my own fault. Basically I’m here to ask you nicely if you wouldn’t mind staying put for a day or two. Or the Council is asking you, through me.”

Jarrion raised an eyebrow.

“For a reason, one assumes?”

Shepard had some more tea. It was rather growing on her.

“They’re chasing up some bods to come and talk with you properly. Some sort of formal delegation, from the sound of things. Very official, you know.”

At this Jarrion frowned.

“Me? Why? I’m simply going about my business,” he said.

“Yes, but you’re going about your business in a ship that is, to put it politely, unreasonably large. It’s making some people nervous, and so they want to talk to you. In these parts a ship that size is not the kind of thing that you see every day. Or ever, actually.”

“Ah, so they’re coming to see if I’m a threat, is that it?” Jarrion asked.

“Well, mostly just to see who you work for and make nice with them through you. They see a huge ship, figure that it must be the product of someone with clout, want to find out how much clout, you know. Mostly they’ll be wanting to size you up and see if they can get something out of meeting you, probably. They won’t say that, obviously. They’ll be very polite about it all. But that’s basically it.”

Shepard was just guessing here, but it seemed believable enough.

Retrieving his cup and considering it a moment Jarrion thought about this.

“Taking a wild stab in the dark but I assume you haven’t informed them of the Imperium or my status as a Rogue Trader or any other such attendant details?” He asked, delicately. He got this impression.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Jarrion, but they already think I’m unsettled. I kind of felt that if I started trying to explain your particular situation then they might lose whatever lingering respect they had for me on account of me having saved their lives. That can only take me so far, and I’m already on thin ice because of the Reapers.”

“Ah yes, the Reapers. How is that going?” Jarrion asked.

He was passingly familiar, and felt it polite to express an interest.

“Right no it’s not going at all, which is good, but it’s going to happen, which is bad. I have other things, one thing at a time.”

Shepard finished the tea and set the cup back down, looking Jarrion hard in the face. Again, with a face like Shepard’s she didn’t really have many options other than a hard look. 

“I have no idea what your plans are from here on out but if you want my advice I’d say sit and wait for the Council guys to show up, because it can only work out well for you to show that you’re not dangerous. It’ll be a pain having to sit through whatever song and dance they’ll cook up to make nice with you, but it’ll be worth it, Jarrion. It’ll just make life easier,” she said.

“Well, we’re all fond of making life easier,” he said with a smile.

“I know I am,” Shepard said, rising to her feet and giving Loghain - who had been completely silent this whole time - a goodbye nod, which the Inquisitor returned. Jarrion rose as well, to see Shepard off.

“You could have sent me a message to this effect, you know. I do value your input and am eminently contactable. We’ve rather got the hang of interfacing our communication systems with yours,” he said, walking alongside her as she started heading back towards the door.

“I was in the neighbourhood. The personal touch is always good,” she said.

“That it is, and I do appreciate it. Is this visit the limit of your engagement in this, then?”

“I do have other stuff to be getting on with. They probably want me to babysit you or shadow you or generally do whatever I feel is necessary to keep you on Illium but, really, do you need me to do that?”

They stopped just before the door, the armsmen standing stiffly to attention with the Lord Captain right there. Jarrion did not notice this.

“Ah, no. No thank you. While I myself have other ‘stuff’ to be getting on with I can certainly see the value in waiting to speak to these officials, as and when they arrive. A few days, you said?” He asked. Shepard nodded.

“A few days, yeah. That’s what they told me. Probably two at a push.”

Not the end of the world.

“Well then, that shouldn’t be too much. I have a few loose ends that require me to stay and tie them up anyway. These freighters, for one, and a crew for them for another,” Jarrion said, sweeping an arm toward the ships. Shepard glanced over.

“Those yours, then?” She asked.

“Yes, freshly acquired. All part of the plan, all going swimmingly. But I needn’t bore you with any of that, Commander. As you say, you have things you need to be getting on with.”

Shepard stared at the freighters - and more specifically the tech priests and the trundling, smoke-wafting servitors - for a moment but said nothing about them. More Imperial weirdness as far as she could tell. The less she knew the better.

“I do, yeah. You’ll probably hear gunfire at some point and if you do it’s probably me, so I wouldn’t worry about it too much. You stay out of trouble, alright?”

“Oh you know me, Commander! Practically allergic to trouble!” Jarrion said.

And with another handshake off Shepard went, Jarrion returning shortly to his seat.

“You were very quiet,” he said to Loghain.

“Didn’t want to interrupt you,” she said. He narrowed his eyes at her.

“That’s the kind of unusual behaviour that makes me worry.”

“You’re just agreeing to meet with the representatives of a non-human political body within earshot of an Imperial Inquisitor, I’m not sure what makes you think you have to worry about anything.”

“Hah. I’ll spare you the repeat of what a Rogue Trader does because I know you know,” Jarrion grumbled, settling deeper into his seat and thinking, staring into space.

More good business, as odious as it sounded. 

Jarrion’s understanding of the Council was that it was composed of representatives of the more prominent species, which did mean aliens, though apparently humanity had recently been admitted. Still, that meant that - at a guess- their officials would be similarly composed. Which meant a trio of aliens at the least. And one human. Plus whatever aides and flunkies they felt the need to bring along.

And whatever rigamarole they felt they’d have to organise to keep him - an apparently unknown quantity - placated. If Jarrion’s experience was anything to go by he was looking at some sort of dinner event. These were the fallback option of everyone, because they were straightforward and gave ample opportunity for those involved to talk and gain the measure of one another. 

In Jarrion’s experience.

He wasn’t going to have to eat alien cuisine, was he? In the name of diplomatic politeness? Jarrion did rather hope not. Some of the food he’d had to stomach in the colonies had been bad enough but there were hard limits.

He shook his head. No use worrying about that ahead of time.

“Well. That’s that then,” he said, breaking the silence that had descended between the two of them. “We’re going to be quite the busy bees in these coming days.” 

“You are. I’m not obliged to do anything,” Loghain pointed out.

“No you’re not. But you’re going to insist on inserting yourself into proceedings anyway, aren’t you?” Jarrion asked.

“Obviously I am. It’s going to be a dinner or something, isn’t it? That they organise to give you a big, proper official hello? It’s always a dinner,” Loghain said, sounding almost as if she spoke from experience.

“Or a ball. But one imagines dinner is the easier option,” Jarrion said.

The thought really did not appeal. Even with humans those sorts of affairs were always less than edifying. With aliens it was going to be an exercise in patience and restraint. Exhausting.

He sighed, then slapped on a brave face.

“All for the greater glory of His Imperium, eh?”

The blessed duty of some servants to be able to kill aliens without being concerned with the consequences beyond the worry of running out of aliens to kill. His? Having to hobnob with them with a view to long-term gains, apparently.

For just a moment the wonderfully direct, simplistic approach his father had towards alien seemed very tempting, but then Jarrion remembered that he was not his father, nor was he his brother, and that he was rather proud of the fact. He liked to think he got better results.

Certainly, adjusted for scale, he was fairly certain he brought more money in to the family than his brother did. Not that father cared about raw numbers, of course. But Jarrion did, and he told himself that was what mattered.

Loghain wrinkled her nose.

“Odd definition of glory. Traditionally, glory doesn’t involve the aliens getting to walk away,” she said.

“Not all of us can sling a few torpedoes at a planet and call it a day, Inquisitor. Some of us work for a living and think at least a few weeks ahead,” Jarrion said.

“That was uncalled for.”

“Sorry. More tea?”

“Please.”


	23. 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NaNoWriMo rather knocked whatever momentum this story might have had out of me. Although, implying that this story had any serious momentum is pretty generous. It has momentum in the same way a glacier has momentum. It's going somewhere, it's just that we'll all be dead when it gets there.

+++ON ILLIUM, IN SOME HOTEL ROOM THAT CERBERUS IS PROBABLY PAYING FOR+++

I hate waiting. I hate knowing something is coming and having no option but just to sit and let it happen. I want to be doing something! Woman of action, that’s me. 

Normally that’s easy. If there’s something that needs doing I can go and do it. Being a Spectre helped, obviously, but even before when it was the Alliance there’d always be something I could be getting on with.

But for this right now I’ve got nothing. There is literally nothing I can do. I am waiting for VIP’s to show up so I can wait around some more while they hobnob. Could leave, but I’d get yelled at, and frankly that’s more trouble than it’s worth. 

Can’t even go back to the Normandy because today is the day they’re meant to be showing up and there’s not much point in shuttling up only to shuttle straight back down again. So here I sit, racking up the minibar bill and glaring out the window.

And yes I’m on a schedule here - Collectors and all that - but yes it’s only a day or two which isn’t really cutting into anything I was planning on doing. Assassin still needs picking up but apparently the window on that isn’t quite right yet, so I can’t even go to that until I’m told the moment is right. So I got nothing. It’s just annoying.

And for what? So the Council can meet and greet some guy?

Suppose I’m not treating it with the gravity it deserves being as how I already know him, but they’re really not going to be getting a lot out of this. And yet still all this fuss.

Wish they were this bloody proactive about the Reapers. One of them did show up. He was kind of hard to miss. You’d have thought that might have got a response, but no. Maybe Sovereign could have just hung in orbit for a bit not doing anything and then sent Saren to swan about in a fancy jacket. Would have been helpful. That way people might have paid attention.

Urgh.

They all probably have their own agendas, probably, these Council guys. Probably all mutually exclusive, probably all pretty shortsighted. All angling to be the ones coming out on top somehow. However that’s even supposed to work with Jarrion. It’ll all come to nothing, I’m sure, and this whole thing’ll just be an expensive waste of time.

Cynicism about politics never gets old.

On the plus side, the time it took for the Council bods to arrive did give me a chance to chase down another member for my super crew, Samara! Woman of prodigious biotic talents and quite frankly ludicrous neckline. Seriously, that thing is the worst shot trap I’ve seen in my life but she can do what she likes, I suppose. Like not wear a helmet.

Why does no-one but me seem to want to wear a helmet? I’d have thought that having the contents of your head splattered over the nearest wall would have been an obstacle in the execution of justice but what do I know.

At this point, thankfully, something broke my train of thought and that was the hotel’s dinky little comm system blinking a light at me. I blinked at the comm system in return and then reached over to it.

“Yes?”

“Miss Shepherd, there’s a man here at front desk asking for you. He says he’s here on Council business - his credentials pass. Would you like to come and see him in the hotel lounge or - ?”

‘Miss Shepherd’. 

I want to throttle whatever Cerberus agent thought that was an ironclad incognito name. You changed two letters! And called me fucking miss! Why did they even need to bother? Given that I had someone here to see me plainly it had been a complete waste of time!

I think they’re just messing with me...

“Just send him up,” I said, adding: “Thanks.”

Not their fault they had to work in a hotel.

And this way I could slam my door in the guy’s face after hearing whatever asinine reason they had to visit me here, all without having to leave the comfort of my chair. Probably coming to brief me or something. Fantastic.

I waited some more, little more tense this time, and was rewarded a minute or so later by the chime telling me someone was outside. Joy.

Well, best to greet whoever this tosspot was face-to-face. I often find that my faces serves as a pretty good introduction all on its own, and one that often puts people in a receptive mood to either cooperate pleasantly or fuck off, depending on how best the situation is to be resolved.

I reach the door, I wave a hand at the panel, the door opened and there stood-

“Anderson! You big bastard, you! Fancy seeing you here!”

He smiled, I smiled, we shook hands. It was probably the nicest thing to happen in days.

“Good to see you, Shepard,” he said.

The handshake broke and I stood back and to one side.

“Come in, come in! Sit down. Impressive timing on your part, I was waiting for someone from the Council to come up and see me. Once I’ve got rid of them we can talk.”

“That would be me,” he said, not sitting.

The door closed behind him. I frowned, looked him top to bottom.

“Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but you don’t actually technically work for the Council so - and don’t take this the wrong way, I’m glad you’re here - why are you here? On Illium, I mean.”

“That’s a good question. The blunt answer would be politics. Alliance has me advising Udina. Udina tells the Council that I’d be a good representative of humanity for this. Udina is happy I’m out from under his feet. Council is happy that Udina isn’t kicking up a fuss - though ‘happy’ for them might be pushing it. Alliance is happy that it has eyes on the situation. Everyone is happy,” he said, taking a moment to smooth a crease on his uniform.

“Are you happy?” I asked.

“Everyone who matters is happy,” he said, by way of clarification.

Sounded about right.

I clucked my tongue and shook my head, moving over to the window to stand and look out. Anderson joined me there, and we both stared at Illium’s frankly unnecessary amount of aerial traffic. Sun was starting to go down, too.

“Kind of surprised the Council would sign off on having an Alliance admiral be the one flying the flag for humanity in this,” I said.

“Well, the Alliance represents humanity on the Council so it’s not too much of a stretch. That, and if they did take issue with it then they might have had to defend their own choices on who they sent.”

One of those situations where everyone is breaking the rules to the extent that no-one wants it pointed out or mentioned, like some sort of politically awkward house of cards. Or everyone had gone to take a piss and forgotten to tuck in and zip up and it was just easier to pretend it hadn’t happened than go through the awkwardness of calling attention to it.

Kind of an odd image but I like to think it fits.

“Ah. Right,” I said. 

More car watching for a second or so.

“Guess you know what the plan is then? For this thing?” I asked.

“Formal dinner. Get to know. Get the measure of.”

Fucking of course it is.

“Figures. I’m probably going to have to get dressed up, aren’t I?”

His turn to look me up and down. Me who hasn’t taken her armour off in, what, a day now?

“Wouldn’t hurt,” he said, attention returning to the view outside.

“Urgh…”

Hope I had something not outwardly affiliated with Cerberus I could put on. The wardrobe I’d been provided with was pretty limited. And not in the sense there wasn’t a lot of options - though there weren’t - but more in the sense that everything they’d provided was about as subtle as hanging a sign off my neck that read ‘I work for Cerberus! Ask us about how much we like to experiment on sapient beings’.

I understand that Cerberus wants to take itself super seriously and does have, you know, military origins and all that, but you’d think that a clandestine, widely-loathed and - let’s face it - borderline-terrorist organisation would be less free-and-easy with just slapping its logo onto everything. 

Hell, that (admittedly rather nifty) assault armour they got for me has even got the thing stamped on its fucking forehead. Subtlety thy name is not Cerberus, apparently. Surprised it’s not on the bloody teacups.

Maybe it is and I just blocked it out…

“I’ll find something,” I said. He nodded, then he turned my way properly - signal for an actual conversation to start, so I turned as well.

“What can you tell me about this ship and its Captain? Jarrion, was it?” He asked, no preamble. To the point. Knew there was a reason I liked this man.

“You guys not read the report?”

“Oh we all had to read the report but I couldn’t help but notice it was a little light on the details. Couldn’t help but feel that was on purpose on your part.”

“Picked up on that, did you? The details are ridiculous, and I’ve got enough trouble being taken seriously as it is. Killer robots from beyond the stars is one thing, this would be the straw that breaks the camel’s back.”

“I’ll find out myself soon enough. Bottom line it for me Shepard: Is he a threat?”

Had to think about that one for a moment.

“...no. He’s dangerous in that big ship of his but he’s not a threat. He’s got his own thing going on.”

“Which is?”

“Trading, apparently. Family business from what he told me,” I said, shrugging.

“Some family,” Anderson said, glancing to the window again, maybe on the off-chance he’d catch sight of that whacking great ship, still up there. Mostly you couldn’t and mostly those who said they could see it were just imagining things. But in the right light…

Seriously, who needs a spaceship that big? How do you make a spaceship that big? Why would you need it? And it’s a light cruiser?

“Yeah. Look Anderson, I am not going to be able to do the explanation justice, just wait until you get to talk to the guy yourself, you’ll see. My position is that the more he’s worried about the more likely something bad is to happen. Just leave him to, I don’t know, make some money. But keep an eye on him all the same, just in case.”

Seemed sensible to me.

Andrerson nodded to himself, taking what I’d said on-board.

“On a different though related noted you wouldn’t happen to know anything more about these laser weapons coming out of the Terminus systems, would you?” He then asked.

That caught me off-guard I’ll admit and my eyes did flick over to my own personal lasergun, sat in the corner. Should probably have done a better job of hiding that.

“Uh...maybe...why do you ask?”

“Intelligence - and what you’ve said - suggests that Jarrion has been trading weapons to human colonists in the Terminus systems. A lot of these weapons then get traded on or lost or stolen and are starting to show up further afield,” Anderson said.

“That doesn’t sound good,” I said.

“It’s not good or bad, it just is. The Alliance has some, which is good. So do some mercenaries, according to reports, which is bad. Though I doubt they’re making much effort to replicate them, unlike the Alliance.”

“How’s that going?”

“Slowly, from what I hear, but then it’s not my project.”

I should probably give them some notes, shouldn’t I? Get EDI to pass something helpful along. If the Alliance is working on them that means by now Cerberus’ll have two working prototypes and be busy working the kinks out by shooting prisoners in the head and measuring what’s left.

I don’t really want anyone to start getting their hands on this Imperial stuff but it seems that horse has bolted so best face the music, eh?

Bloody Jarrion. I mean, it was inevitable that this sort of thing was going to happen, but so quickly? We have enough on our plate without some random, outside-context problem coming in and throwing a spanner in the works.

Though, actually, come to think of it, now I mention it…

What was it that Sovereign had said? Something to do with everything we’d made stemming from technology they’d left specifically for us to work from? By using the Mass Relay technology we all develop the way they wanted us to?

Sorry, rather, BY USING IT, YOUR SOCIETY DEVELOPS ALONG THE PATHS WE DESIRE. Ahem.

We might have blown the guy to bits but the point remains, he wasn’t wrong. You can’t really argue with the results given the stuff all works, true and hell, firing a piece of metal is going to hurt no matter how you do it, but we kind of do play right into their big metal tentacles, don’t we? They know the ups and down of everything we can do and they can do it better than we ever could.

Like trying to beat someone at a game they’d invented the rules to, where one of the rules is also that they don’t really have to play by them if they don’t want to. How much damage had Sovereign soaked up again? And that had been a fleet unloading on him. And even then...

Jarrion and his lot, though, they’ve got stuff from somewhere else completely, a whole different direction. All of their tech looks completely out of left field to me. And not just the lasers. I’m pretty sure I saw Pak with some kind of gun that set a Collector on fire. Hell, not even that, they burst into flames. 

And then there’s the huge spaceship that gets around without Relays and has some sort of...beam...cannon thing on the front that cored out that Collector ship like it was made out of pink wafer.

What else might they have? 

Why didn’t I think about this before?

Put a pin in that. Something to think more about later. Definitely something to press Jarrion on. I’m going to have to talk to the guy anyway, right? And the guns are already out there so clearly he’s not that concerned, right? Mean, he gave me that pistol, right?

“Shepard?” Anderson said, bringing me back to the present with a bump. I shook my head.

“Sorry, miles away. Just thinking. When is this thing actually meant to happen, anyway?”

“In three hours time.”

“Fuck me! Council doesn’t half like short notice, does it?”

-

+++MEANWHILE, IN ORBIT, ABOARD THE ASSERTIVE+++

Jarrion was sitting happily in one of his rooms, dictating a list of equipment, material and personnel he felt he was likely to need once a safe and reliable route home had been confirmed. Which it would be, obviously. Providence decreed it to be so, the Emperor was smiling on him!

“Oh! And modular habitats. The kind that can be easily dropped from orbit, ah, what was their name, we have that one we favoured…” he said while the servo-skull dutifully scratched down every single word verbatim. Someone would have to edit it down later for clarity. Probably Torian. Was his job after all.

He tapped a finger to his chin, tried to remember the name of those habs, but it didn’t come to him.

“Ah well. I’ll look it up later,” he said, waving it off, still cheerful. He hadn’t stopped being cheerful since hearing of the way back home, in fact. He just couldn’t help himself.

His mind was positively buzzing with the possibilities. Assuming it worked flawlessly - and he did not allow himself the weakness of imagining any other outcome - then it would be a gamechanger. No longer having to operate as though cut off from all resupply! The ability to take greater risks! To plan more fully, knowing he had full access to his family resources, or at least those he was allowed access to.

Those he could access without arousing undue familial suspicion…

Just think! Right now he was trading in trinkets and basics, whatever the Assertive’s limited manufacturing capabilities could produce. Now he could bring through proper equipment! Material he had no access to here! Oh! The markets! The opportunities! 

And the manpower! He’d been having to stretch his crew thinner and thinner across his various holdings, or else relying on local labour, much of which was (infuriatingly) alien. Finding human crews for those local ships hadn’t been as easy as he might have liked.

Things were only looking up. Jarrion saw no problems in his future whatsoever. Nothing could possibly disrupt what he had in mind. Everything was going beautifully.

Then came the ring of a bell, signalling that someone from the bridge was attempting to contact him.

Train of thought thoroughly derailed Jarrion swallowed his irritation and got up to answer.

“Yes?”

“Lord Captain, we’re being hailed from the surface.”

“Ah! That’d be news about this Council meeting, no doubt! Can you put it through to me here?”

Further progress in getting Imperial and local systems to talk to one another had made what would have been awkward days ago now only slightly tricky.

“Yes Lord Captain, one moment.”

There followed a pause as connections were made, after which Jarrion was informed of the details much as Shepard had been, albeit at somewhat greater length and with more deferrence, as befitted someone who was ostensibly the invited guest. Jarrion listened, took note and confirmed attendance.

All simple stuff. He then sent word for Thale, Loghain, Altrx and Torian to meet him in his quarters.

Thale was first, but not by a whole lot - Loghain arrived so quickly it was almost she’d been standing poised, waiting. After that it was just a question of waiting for Torian who arrived a fair few minutes later, puffing and wheezing and accompanied by Pak, who’d apparently overheard the request for Torian to come and decided to invite themselves along.

Irritating, but worse things had happened.

Last to arrive was Altrx, who looked like he’d just woken up. This was because he had just woken up.

“Come in, come in, take a seat,” Jarrion said, taking his visitors in the first room of his quarters, the receiving room, one of only two rooms that any guests to his personal quarters were likely to see. Loghain, Altrx Torian were the only ones to actually sit though, Torian with great relief and Loghain with kind of glee that came from sitting in what was plainly a very old, very expensive chair. Altrx just sat, for his part. Thale and Pak elected to remain standing, which Jarrion could respect, and so he started:

“Word from our friends from down below. This little diplomatic event is indeed going to be a dinner - as I rather suspected - and it is going to be happening in a few scant hours. Now I know this might seem trifling but this is, in fact, rather important. This is our first point of proper, official contact with the Council and so while this won’t be the definitive establishing moment of our relationship with them - a very major player in the galaxy in which we now find ourselves - it will certainly set the tone, and I wish to start as we mean to go on: politely, as respectful associates. Are you all following this?” Jarrion said, all in his Rogue Trader voice, hands behind his back.

There came nods from all present bar one.

“Wait, could you repeat that? I lost you after ‘Word from our’,” Loghain said, but Jarrion ignored her and turned to Altrx instead.

“Altrx, you’re under no obligation to attend, of course, but I felt I should extend the invitation to you.”

“Dinner with xenos? I don’t know what you Rogue Traders call a good time but I’d sooner stick my head out the window,” Altrx said.

“Eloquently put,” said Jarrion.

This was the answer that Jarrion had been expecting, of course, and he was glad to receive it. Common wisdom stated that the Navis Nobilite could get quite famously upset if they felt they were being left, so it always paid to check. Another box ticked, another hoop jumped through. Jarrion continued, addressing everyone now:

“We don’t wish to impose upon their hospitality and I’d personally rather keep this small and brief, which brings me to why I called you here. It’ll be myself, Thale-”

“Me,” Loghain interjected.

“-and the Inquisitor,” Jarrion sighed. He knew he’d invited her but it was still depressing.

And then Pak raised a hand to where there mouth would have been and let out a brief, garbled burst of static, a fair substitute for clearing one’s throat and which Jarrion hadn’t expected. He looked over at the Magos and found them staring in a way that, had they had an actual face, would have looked expectant. 

“You - you want to come as well, Pak?” He asked.

Pak nodded. Jarrion swallowed.

Ideally Jarrion wouldn’t have had to take any member of the Mechanicus, but that unfortunately wasn’t an option. Or at least it wasn’t anymore.

Keeping Pak confined to ship had been the sensible option while Rogue Trader business had been being conducted and he’d had a good excuse then, but now this was a proper, formal meeting between agents of the Imperium and, according to whatever Byzantine rank arrangement they had, Pak outranked Blix and so was the one who was angling to tag along and represent Mechanicus interests, such as they were, and such as they were entitled to.

What possible benefit a tech priest could gather from attending a formal dinner was unclear. Jarrion had the distinct impression Pak was just taking the first available opportunity to get off the ship, make a nuisance of themselves and maybe also swipe something when nobody was looking.

Not that Jarrion could do anything about it, as said. As with the Navigators, it paid to keep the Mechanicus on-side, and so shutting Pak out would just cause more problems. Sulking would only be the start, Jarrion was sure.

There was one thing he had to at least try to soften, however.

“But of course, by all means. We do value the Mechanicus’s contribution to the House and to the Imperium, But, ahem, now Pak,” Jarrion said, delicately. “I don’t wish to impose but this is a formal, diplomatic function and the first meeting between ourselves and proper representatives of the largest political entity in the present galaxy so if I could be so bold as to perhaps, maybe ask you look your most, ah, presentable? First impressions and all that?”

Pak continued to stare silently for a moment before abruptly turning on their heel and stomping off.

“Something I said?” Jarrion asked, now feeling a touch nervous.

“Oh you know these Tech Priests. So touchy,” Loghain said.

In many ways she wasn’t actually wrong, but that was by the by. Jarrion would deal with that particular issue - whatever the issue was - shortly.

“Yes well, anyway. This is meant to be a friendly, important meeting so best behaviour from all three of us and no obvious weaponry, please,” he said, most of this being directed Thale’s way.

“I’ll keep it subtle, Lord Captain,” said Thale, getting a nod of approval from Jarrion.

“Excellent, excellent. That’s about the long and the short of it. Us three, looking our best, acting our best, meet in the lighter bay in an hour for immediate departure. Torian?”

“Yes, Lord Captain?”

“You shall have the Assertive in my absence.”

“Yes, Lord Captain,”said Torian, who seemed to spend half his life using only those three words with slight variations in intonation.

And so it was. In short order Jarrion was down in the lighter bay watching the cleanest of the lighters being prepped for launch, fingering the head of the cane he’d chosen just to add a bit of flair.

Thale had already been in the bay when Jarrion had arrived, looking a little uncomfortable crammed into what Jarrion guessed might have been a dress uniform from the Guard, just not Thale’s as the fit really wasn’t there. Not that it was slowing the man down any. He was still there, still glancing about like he always did, looking to be about half a second away from killing everyone in the room if the situation called for it.

Loghain had appeared not long after Jarrion either and insisted on hanging by his elbow while he stood and checked his chronometer and eyed progress on the lighter. At the least she was keeping quiet, for which Jarrion could only be thankful.

That did leave the lingering question of Pak and whether it had been a strop they’d stormed off in, or something else.

Fortunately though the Magos had actually gone to make themselves presentable, as asked. In the event, ‘presentable’ meant cleaner robes with a natty, white, cog-toothed trim around the hem and sleeves and a rather unnerving, blank-faced brass mask to cover up the profusion of grilles, lenses, tubes, pipes and scattered patches of grey flesh that typically composed Pak’s - well, ‘face’ would be being generous. 

It was probably the best that Jarrion could hope for.

Once arrived in the lighter bay Pak even gave an arms-spread turn on the spot - a very exaggerated, theatrical arms-spread turn on the spot - that practically screamed ‘Is this acceptable to you?’

“Much better Pak, thank you,” Jarrion said with a great swell of relief, Pak stalking off towards the lighter, those armsmen who’d been selected to accompany the trip down and guard the thing parting to let the Magos through.

“You didn’t seem concerned about how I look,” Loghain said.

“You look fine,” Jarrion said, not looking. He heard Loghain huffed in what he hoped was an exaggerated fashion.

“I don’t think you’re giving me enough credit. I’m blind, remember. And on a ship without a wardrobe of my own. I think I’ve done very well.”

That got Jarrion’s attention and he looked at Loghain properly for the first time since they’d arrived in the bay. Gone was the mock-Astropath getup she had initially shown up and typically favoured, replaced instead with something alarmingly similar to what he himself was wearing, albeit with her rosette pinned quite brazenly on her chest.

He’d have accused her of breaking into his quarters and taking his clothes only the outfit was very plainly cut and sized specifically for her, which at the least meant she hadn’t stolen from him. She was just mocking him.

“...where did you get those clothes?” He asked.

“See? Now I’ve got your attention,” Loghain said, tapping her nose.

Jarrion shook his head and decided to pretend none of that had happened and to ask no further questions. That way madness lay. Or, alternatively, paranoia and more unhelpful answers.

“You look fine, Inquisitor,” he said. “Perfectly adequate.”

“Kindest thing you’ve said to me.”

-

+++BACK ON ILLIUM, ONE LIGHTER TRIP LATER+++

Given the short-notice under which this whole shindig had been organised things had come together surprisingly well. And with no slip ups either, thankfully. No napkins being sent to the wrong place today, not at all. Everything went perfectly smoothly.

Illium had experience in hospitality - what with the surfeit of big, important companies requiring big, important luncheons and fully-catered seminars and sales meetings and so on and so forth - and so the sudden requirement of a venue and food for this sort of thing was but the work of a moment, if you knew the right people. 

And the Council had known the right people.

The place was just one of hundreds of corporate function venues, albeit towards the higher end. Outfitted with the finest in generic, uninteresting, bulk-produced art and uninspiring looking greenery in waist-high planters it was every dead-eyed executive’s dream venue - you could hardly ask for somewhere more lacking of character, soul or warmth.

And of course, given the highly valuable topics of discussion often undertaken by corporate types at these events, the very fabric building itself was practically bulging with the latest and greatest in counter-snooping and anti-eavesdropping technology - a veritable faraday cage it was, utterly bug-proof. 

The only way anyone on the outside was going to be able to listen in on what was happening on the inside was if they managed to sneak someone in there to do it for them.

Jarrion was met at the pad his lighter had landed on by a Council functionary, an Asari. They had decided - inaccurately, though they weren’t really to know - that an Asari would do well at putting an unknown visitor at ease. She did not, but Jarrion hid this fact well and was all smiles. He even shook her hand, seeing as how he’d remembered to wear gloves this time.

It was then a trip in a brace of aircars to their destination. None of the Imperials appreciated this, finding the aircars far, far too quiet for their liking, not giving any indication that they were actually functioning as they were meant to. That, and the drivers were aliens. They were all thoroughly glad to arrive.

There was - as there always is - a drinks-and-nibbles prelude to the actual dinner, the primary intent of which was for introductory mingling. 

That had been the idea at least, but that was not what was happening, as the Imperials remained clustered together and stood apart from the Council people, who, having experience of these sorts of functions, did a very good job of talking amongst themselves and not acting as though this was all very awkward.

The Council people outnumbered the Imperials by a far margin too, which was unhelpful. Everyone had brought an entourage, it seemed, with the Alliance’s single man coming across as rather frugal by comparison. It begged the question of what any of them might be there for.

Moral support?

Shepard was the only one present availing herself of the food on offer, finding the whole thing wasteful otherwise and unable to fight off the habit of always eating whenever eating was an option. If she had deeper pockets and not witnesses she likely would have put some of the canapes away for later. 

As it stood, she just methodically worked her way through the trays, unconcerned.

Seeing this, Jarrion abandoned the others and sauntered over. She was a familiar face, at least, if not what anyone would call a typically friendly one.

“Fancy seeing you here, Commander,” he said, sidling up beside her and casting an eye over what nibbles remained. Nothing appealed.

Shepard swallowed.

“Hello Jarrion,” she said, before looking back to see that, yes, everyone was still standing apart in groups just like they had been when she’d started eating. “Glad to see this is off to a great start.”

“Heh. Quite. I do hate these things. One imagines that everyone does but simply puts up with out of politeness by imagining that they’re the only one,” Jarrion said.

“Well I can tell you that you’re not alone on this one, Jarrion, I hate this too. Would much rather be doing something else,” Shepard said as she swiped a drink from the tray of a passing waiter.

“As would we all, Commander. Must say I am rather surprised you’re here at all. This doesn’t seem like a productive use your time.”

Shepard had been about to actually drink her drink but this state brought her up short.

“I know, right? I could be recruiting an assassin right now. But apparently this constitutes a part of the job as Spectre. Could have fooled me! Oh well”.

She then knocked her drink back and, while swallowing, pointed with the hand holding the now-empty glass.

“That Pak?” She asked.

Jarrion looked at where she was pointing and she was indeed pointing at Pak who was stood stock-still, staring into space. It was a little unnerving. But at least they were at least cleaner than they usually were - no oil this time.

“Hmm? Oh, yes, that would be Pak.”

“They scrub up nicely.”

“Nicely enough at least. Thank the Emperor for small mercies. If I hadn’t invited them they would have been frightfully upset and now I have invited them look - just standing there, doing nothing, talking to no-one. Mechanicus...”

He tailed off and looked again at the fingerfood. What, exactly, made a meal an alien meal? It couldn’t be the ingredients - he’d had food grown on scores of different planets, so that didn’t count. So was it the recipe? And if human hands prepared human-grown food in an alien way, was that an alien meal, or a human meal?

Probably best to err on the side of caution and just assume alien, Jarrion felt. So no nibbles.

The actual dinner would be bad enough, he was sure.

“You into arms dealing now, I hear?” Shepard said, snapping him back to the moment. He had to take a second to process what she’d actually said, given he hadn’t been paying attention to it.

“Not that I’m aware of, Commander,” Jarrion said, frowning.

“Not handing out lasers to colonists, then?” Shepard asked, taking another drink from the same waiter who’d just finished doing a circuit of the room.

It still took Jarrion a second, but then he twigged it.

“Oh, that. Hardly arms dealing! Those lasguns are a small part of what we’re trading out in the Terminus systems. It’s a tough life, colonial life, always need all sorts of things! I’ve positioned myself as something of, shall we say, cheaper and more reliable alternative? Proving rather popular.”

“I’d say so. Those lasers of your are popping up all over, now.”

“Is that right? I shall have a word with some of my trading partners next time I see them, sort it out,” Jarrion said. He was not concerned. Annoyed in the low-level way he expected he’d be annoyed when he heard of this happening, but not concerned. It was inevitable and, really, couldn’t possibly be an issue. Barely rated as an issue.

Just some lasguns. 

“That wasn’t meant as a jab, by the way. Everyone’s got a make a living, right? And if you’re into arms dealing I could probably connect you to some people,” Shepard said.

“Oh no, no. I’m hardly set up for that. And these lasguns are mere trifles - colonist weapons! Not suitable for anything else, I assure you,” Jarrion said.

Shepard could have pressed the issue - pointing out that Jarrion’s ship was practically encrusted with guns that there would be no shortage of people interested in having a look at and then even stuff he considered basic would be valuable if only from a research perspective alone - but there’d be a time for that. 

For his part, Jarrion was happily thinking to himself of the lucrative markets available once he’d brought some propers arms manufacturing equipment back from home. If civilian-issue lasguns were popular enough to be worthy of note, what would the denizens of this galaxy make of actual, military-grade Imperial armaments?

And how much would they be willing to pay him for them?

“How is business, anyway? Engaging in a little aggressive expansion?” Shepard then asked, casually.

“Nothing quite as exciting as that, Commander, I assure you. Nothing especially interesting,” Jarrion said.

“Hmm,” Shepard said, pitched to just the right tone that it was flagrantly obvious she was more likely to believe what she heard from someone else than from Jarrion. Jarrion was wounded. He’d thought they were friends!

Or, if not friends, at least acquaintances. And given how big space was that counted for more than it normally did, in his opinion.

“Emperor’s honest truth Commander, I’ve simply been doing business, that’s all. Does that sometimes hit a rough patch here or there, given the rather unsavoury characters known to inhabit the area of space within which I operate? Maybe, maybe. Rest assured I’ve done my best to comport myself as politely as possible, where possible. Be glad my brother wasn’t the one who ended up here!” He said, briefly putting his hands up in the sign of the Acquilla, something that Shepard vaguely remembered the significance of but still found a little strange to see.

“I think you’ve mentioned him before. I’m kind of getting the impression you’re not that fond of him,” she said. 

Jarrion smiled, but lopsided.

“He is - well, family is always a little awkward, isn’t it? There’s always issues. My family’s issues just happen to occur on a somewhat larger scale than most. And and I have never, ah, seen eye-to-eye, shall we say?”

This was another of those occasions where Jarrion was telling the truth in the same way that sticking your toe into the shallow end of the swimming pool could be considered getting into it.

Further small talk was forestalled by a large set of doors toward one of the room opening up and a gaggle of waiting staff coming through. Beyond the doors a lot of laid tables lay.

“Ah, looks like it’s about time things are set to start. Best get on with it, eh? Sooner started, sooner finished and all that,” Jarrion said, smoothing out some braid and sweeping some crumbs from his jacket. He wasn’t even sure how they’d got there.

Shepard - who had been reaching for one last piece of what seemed to be an awful lot like an Asari version of sesame prawn toast - decided against it and pulled her hand back.

“You know, I still thought this kind of thing would have been right up your street,” she said as Jarrion and her started wandering slowly towards the doors, along with everyone else. Jarrion raised an eyebrow.

“Whatever makes you think that?” He asked.

“Lot of pomp and circumstance. Lot of talking. Everyone in nice uniforms,” Shepard elaborated, gesticulating. Jarrion leaned in, mock-conspiratorial. 

“To be perfectly honest with you, Commander, I’ve always detested events such as these. Always preferred action to talking, myself.”

“Could have fooled me.”

Jarrion clasped a beringed hand to his bosom.

“Oh! I am wounded. But no, talking is a form of action, you see? Or can be. Can be a means to an end, a way of achieving goals! As much a tool as violence, in the right hands. The problem is that at events such as these it is, more often than not, none of these things, sadly. A lot of sound and fury signifying nothing, in the main. And one has to be on the lookout for what people aren’t saying and what they are listening out for. What’s hiding behind what they’re putting on show, the questions they’re really asking behind the questions they’re actually asking. It’s all rather tiresome. But, such is life.”

They paused in the doorway. The Imperials were all already sat, clustered together, one spare seat left for Jarrion. The various Councils persons were, with their crews, still sitting. There was a gap next to Anderson - this wasn’t actually meant for Shepard, but it was going to be for Shepard.

“Such is our life, at least,” she said, wondering briefly what the Reapers might be up to at that exact moment.


End file.
